 I was a communist for the FBI. I was in an exciting tale of danger and espionage. I was a communist for the FBI. From the actual records and authentic experiences of Matt Sevetik, come many of the incidents in this unusual story. Here is our star, Dana Andrews, as Matt Sevetik, who for nine fantastic years, lived as a communist for the FBI. I'm glad it's over. The weird Alice in Wonderland fantasy of being a communist, of pretending to the reds that I was helping to plunder my own country. The reports, the strange rendezvous, the mail drops, code words, the intrigue that made both ends against the middle. Nine years nightmare. I'm glad it's over, but I'm glad it happened. In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews as Matt Sevetik, undercover man. Matt Sevetik, undercover man. This story from the confidential file is marked, Little Boy Blue, Turn Red. I mean, take this anymore. I'll crack, I'll break wide open. I've got to call my FBI contact. That's his code name now, and come on, Sevetik. Look alive or you'll get dead. Longstreet, that's it. I know, who was Paul Ippolito? And why was he murdered? Paul Ippolito, the name raised bells. Somehow, somewhere. I've got to know this man. I've got to know why he was killed. Longstreet, dial Longstreet. Longstreet, please. Who wants him? Sevetik. Who? What? No, McClellan. McClellan. Go ahead. I've got to see you. It's nerves, I guess. You're not mad. If your compulsion has to match the roundable, let's pick up a roundable suntan. You look awful. You've got to answer me on this Ippolito case. I know what you said to talk of him. An honest tradesman without enemies is waylaid in an alley and killed. Without being robbed. Ippolito, the foreign name, like mine. Well... The speculation is that he was an FBI undercover man. Like me. Just speculation. Have you spoken to Rebson today? Now you've got it. No. I haven't spoken to Rebson. I telephoned in at 830 AM as usual. No answer. I've waited for his call at the various checkpoints we have set up. No call. Isn't that significant to you? It's the silent treatment. It means I'm next. Oh, Matt. I'm telling you. I'm telling you this, too. They won't stop with one killing. Assuming Ippolito was the one. They'll send the same hatchet man after others while they're on the subject. On the theory that they can't hang higher for three murders than for one. I'm telling you. This has all happened before, Matt. Nerves. I'm kidding. Nerves. Can you let me have 20 bucks? Glad to. You think you'll need it? You're not really afraid of being them before now? The reason I want the money. I want them to find cash on me, too. So you'll know robbery wasn't a motive. Now, let the eye contact leave first. I wait 10 minutes, absently watching a thin guy play the pinball machine. Then I walk out. Halfway down the block, I step into a doorway for a routine check to see if I'm being followed. Citizens, I am being followed. The lean man of the pinball machine is 150 feet behind me. Scratch round the room green. It's discovered. And maybe Scratch Matt Svettik. He's discovered, too, baby. Come on, Steve. Who is this? McKellen. Go ahead. Look, I'm being tailed. It happened to Ippolito, and it's happening to me. And no. I know. I can't shake this guy. He's out to get me. What does he get to lose? He's liquidated one guy already. Hello? Where are you? Pay station. Pine and Liberty. What does your man look like? He's a green and mule in a blue-gabardine suit. Keep talking till our men can get started down there. And there's another guy out there. Yeah, what like? This one is short and fat, but solid. Looks like a rough man of close quarters. Brown suit. Got it. By the way, scratch round of old green. Naturally. Keep on talking. I'm a blank. My mouth like steel wool. We'll say anything. You've got to hold those shutters there a while. A little toy dog is covered with dust, but sturdy and strong, she stands. What? Songs my mother taught me. A little toy soldier is riddled with rust, and there's musket mold in his pocket. Finally, we ring off. I've never felt so alone. I like to call my mother. Talk to my brother, too. If they'd know something is wrong, then anyhow, they don't have much use for the sun. They're disgraced if they're never turning red. I leave the phone booth and go outside. Lean on me, and it's time to stop. Time right after me. I try, all right. I try every trick in the book, but they're too good. I'm not good enough. I can't shake them. I can't. All day with a chase. It gets darker. They close in to a hundred feet. My life almost nightfall. Fifty feet. Keep your nerves, let it count. Don't use your head. Stay alive if you can. But if you can't, then you die with dignity. Lead life as you call to. Don't do it, boy. Don't do it. Where to? Where to now? A penny archer. Crowded with people and gory machines. I just get up chess, checkers, beat the expert, pinball machines, souvenirs, but then only get lost in there. I start running. I punch into the crowd, put my weight for the man, and try to get the shooting gallery. Oh, tell me something, Matt. Sure, my name is Boat. How do I get out of here? Same way you got in. Is there a back exit? Only for the use of hoods on the line. Oh, tell me. Fugitives from wives, not accommodators. Could I just have an envelope and pencil and paper, please? Oh, I just thought you and you can write home to Mama, huh? Yeah, exactly. You mean it? Please. Well, there's no such thing around this ignorant crowd. Why don't you send her a record of your voice instead, two bits? Well, how? Right over there, that little booth. You drop in a quarter, pull a lever, talk one full minute, recite, sing, blow your nose, record slides out, you address it, drop it in a slot, the concessionaire mails it for you. It's a good deal. Yeah, that's a good deal. I managed to ease over to the little recording booth by probing and pulling a curtain. I drop a quarter in a slot. The light goes on. I talk close to the microphone. Do you know? I can't say much. But what I'm saying is important. I want you to know I'm still the same you hoped I'd be. I think I've been a pretty good American even when you thought I was a communist. I'm not mad. I never was. I've been working for the FBI all this time. I can tell you. And don't tell you how many times I want to be quick because I love you all so much. And I didn't want you all to think and disgrace the family. You can tell everybody that your boy may be a good American. It's okay to cry a little bit funny, but don't forget it. And I always try to think of me as be a little boy good before you turn red. Hmm. So long, man. Do everybody my love. This is just a matter. The record drops down. I address the label to my mother and drop it in a slotted box. Then I walk out under the suspicious eyes of the mean and stylish top. I walk outside. It's dark. I dig into it and tell myself don't call to the money. Don't run. Walk. Closing in. Closer. Beside me now. One of each other. Walking. Where? Go far. We go to the piano studio where the cell meets when we don't want to risk an FBI time. Behind the desk, looking so satisfied is Comrade Redson. Ah, say it. Redson. One of these two jokers been following me. Respect, Comrade Stettich. Respect. Why have they been shadowing me? And where do we go from here? Did you make any mistakes today, Comrade Stettich? All I did was walk fast. We thought the time was opportune for a general check on some comrades. How opportune. And check on what, Thomas? Yesterday a man named Ippolito met violent death. Perhaps some guilty traitors in our ranks think Ippolito was purged for being an FBI stool pigeon. They wonder who is next. Knowing that purges are undertaken on a fairly wholesale basis. Well, was Ippolito killed for stool pigeoning for the FBI? Who knows. And what matter? Stettich, you weren't panicked into making any mistakes today, were you? If I did, Comrade Mutton Jeff here will tell you all about it. Stettich. I congratulate you on passing your test. Well done, all of you. That is all. Go. I walked down the dark stairs to the street and two men passed me and disappeared into the thin cold desert. I suspect they're the watchful FBI shadows that launched its scent. I can't know. I'm not supposed to know. Anyhow, the danger is over. Over. Stop. The cold rain settles in a man jelly in my blood. That record telling my mother I'm FBI. I dictated it when I thought I was a dead man, anyhow. If Mom plays that record, sooner or later I will be a dead man. Did I make any mistakes? Where's Vanessa? What a mistake. Who, starring as Matt Severick, and I was a communist for the FBI and the second act of our story. Even then again, the FBI has warned me not to tell anybody I'm an undercover man. But that record will tell my mother and sooner or later the commons will find out about it and where another will speculate down to them and I'll be dead. I've got to keep her from playing that record. I telephone Mom and get my younger brother Tip instead. Tip, who despises me for having gone communist. Now, Mom? Well, Tip, now, this is Matt. I sent Mom, you know, one of those two-bit records you're making penny arcades in a mutant park. Look, Tip, when the record comes, tell Mom not to play it. I thought it would make her happy, that's why. What made you change it? I can't explain that, Tip. Mom could stand a little happy. I think she should hear it, she'll hear it. You can't do that. Can't wait for your 20th drive, Matt. Tip! Tip! I've got to get that record before it gets into the mail. I've got to get back to that penny arcade and get them to open up the box for me. They'll do what they've got to do. It's life and death to me. Even if I can't explain to them why it's life and death. That'll be all. It's late, and the shooting gallery is closing up when I approach Bert the sharp character again. And get no pain. Look, Charm, I can't do anything for you. Why can't you? It's my record and you've got it. I want it back. We don't have nothing to do with that machine. With your machine? We just leased the space it's onto the operator. That's all. Oh, what about him then? When does he unlock the box and get out the record? Wednesday morning, 11 a.m. Are you sure about that now? No, I'm just practicing up on my curves. Sure, I'm sure. But if I wait until Wednesday, I'll go out of my mind. I wander around the arcade and buy a souvenir, a letter opener, a steel and plaster. Then I slip into the recording booth. For 10 minutes, I try and lift the gouge at the box until the letter opener is twisted and bent in the box mutilated but unopened. It's no use. I've just got to wait. All the next day, I'm useless to anybody, clearing myself. I don't eat, I don't sleep. I just look at clocks. Centuries later, it's finally Wednesday morning, 11 a.m. and I'm at the Penny Arcade waiting for the man to collect those records. 11 a.m. 11 a.m. I can't stand it anymore. I go to Bert at the shooting gallery learning some more funny things to say out of a comic book. Well, Bert, I've been waiting around for the man to take those records out, remember? Ah, he won't be here today. But you said he would be here. He was here yesterday. What? Yesterday. But you said, you said he'd... Did I did, did I did? But some joke, I tried to jimmy the machine so I had to come out yesterday to fix it so while he was at it, he emptied the record chest. Well, my record's gone. Yesterday. Well, maybe I can call him up before he puts the record in the mail. Maybe. He gets his number if you wait a minute. My name is Digamo. I see, and I'll hold back your record, Mr. Smedic. All right. I can't do that. I trust you. Maybe I... Look, I'll make it worth your while to hold up the whole batch for just one hour until I get there. Tell me which record it is and not put it in the mail. All right, let's not talk. I'm grabbing a taxi right now. I'm looking for Mr. Digamo. Yeah, you got him. Yeah, I phoned about my record an hour ago. Uh, two hours ago. Oh, we got held up on a traffic jam. Yeah, well, I thought you wasn't coming after all. I sent the records out. Oh, no. Mm, half hour ago. Where did you mail them? Oh, nothing. I mean Vic. Who's Vic? Porter. Where did he mail them then? He puts them in a cardboard box and on top of the mailbox. Yeah, that way we don't monopolize mail. Which mailbox? That's me. I need to buy up to Vic. Well, where is he? He left for the day. Then where does he live? The racetrack. Probably on his way there right now. Never mind. I'll cruise around in a taxi or something. I'll try to locate the mailbox myself. There being a big crack of box on top of the mailbox. Can't miss it. Peggy! I don't blame anybody except Revson and his kind. They've got to keep my head up. I've got to get back that record. North and south, east and west, warped and woofed the Tatex and Weasel pattern over the area that ridges half a hundred mailboxes. And then I see it. Recorded a traffic light. I shove a large billet to the driver and jump out running. There's the mail collector now locking up the box again. Away! Away! He's climbing into the truck. Oh, mail back! I'm there the second time in my adult life. I break down and cry. Cry like a kid. Like little boy blue. Can I come in, Mom? Come in some. Mom, I sent you something in the mail. I know. The mail man just goes away. I know. I was watching him. I saw him. Keep. Keep. Look that mail in living room. Keep. My key is here. May I drop in my tracks if I didn't know you'd be prowling around for this record? I've got to have a tip. Is this what you send me, Mati? Record? Two bits worth. And even then on a slight Indian give-a-bases. I wish I could explain, but I can't, that's all. Mom, do me a favor. Bring in my portable record player. It isn't heavy. No, Mom. Go ahead, Mom. No. No tip. Look, it came in a U.S. mail. It's hers, isn't it? Mom, I sent you a record that I made Monday. I said things in it that I can make trouble for me. That I want to hear. I'll get my record player. Keep. Go on, Mati. I came to ask you to give me the record back. After we've heard it. Before anybody hears it. You said it would make Mom happy. That's right. Why don't you let her hear it then? Like, I can't tell you. If I did, I'd be telling you what's on the record. Okay by me. It isn't okay with me. At the worst, I'm not ready to die. And at the best, I don't want to give up the important work I'm doing. Die. Mati. I said too much. You said die. He also said he doesn't want to give up the important work he's doing. And what important work are you doing? Undermining our government an entire way of life. And if we hear that record, we might gloss you up a bit. Who doggone bad? I'm going for my machine. Stay where you are, keep. Listen to me, both of you. This man is an enemy of the United States. This man, this man. Your own brother, your flesh and mine. You call this man? He's a stranger to me. It's all right, I suppose. Men fight each other. Sometimes brothers fight brothers. Sons fight fathers, kill each other. It's terrible, yes. But it's not the way I suppose. It's brave and strong. I don't know. I don't want for my son should die. Mom. Let all alone, can't you? I promise, Mom. I'll make it all up to you someday. Take. Give me the record. My son make for me. Here, Mom. Don't feel bad. Matty. Yes, Mom. Matty. Long time ago. I buy you nice things to know. Sure. Swell books. Bandy books. Tell you nice story, huh? A little toy dog is covered with dust. It's sturdy and staunch, he stands. Yes. Was but little boy playing with toy soldiers. The little boy blew. What don't ever come back. Matty. Here is the record. Someday I could play it, maybe. And be happy, son. Someday. Take care of yourself. Son. I have the record. Against the comrades crap that explored in human pain and tragedy. My mother has set her instant. And her mother's belief in her wayward son. Like those eternal toy soldiers waiting in the dust of years, faith with the little boy blew. But I can't go back. My friends, the people that once respected me, keep wondering what's happened to Matt Savetti. The answer is little boy blue turned red. I'm a communist for the FBI. I walk alone. Dana Andrews will return in just a moment. This is Dana Andrews with a word about the story you've heard and the great stories you're going to hear and think about. In order to protect innocent people, names, dates and places are fictitious. Many of these stories are based on events in the life of Matt Savetti who worked undercover for the FBI. You've just heard part of that great adventure, but friends, you haven't heard the last of it. Next week, another exciting adventure. Jared Withers, won't you?