 Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomeest mile in the world. My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. It's a time and a place and a state of mind where you bang your head against a wall so the lights will be brighter, the noise is louder. Thereby furnishing proof that you're enjoying yourself. And at holiday season you bang your head harder and conjure up visions, the new year, the new promises, the golden girl who will smile to you from the crowd and beckon. It could happen. It's Broadway, My Beat. There's a place on Broadway at Nudge's on the Columbus Circle and calls itself the Dover Hotel, then retires into its own fated respectability. At eight o'clock in the cold, weekday morning, Broadway walks past it on its way to work. So was I when a man darted out of its doorway, saw me, darted some more and tugged at my sleeve. He said he knew me, knew I was a policeman and that's what he needed. So then we were in an elevator and he said his name was...what did you say your name was? Box, Louis Box. Well, just what seems to be your trouble, Mr. Box? I said to myself, I said, Mr. Box, there's trouble in room 812. Big trouble. Oh, very big, Mr. Clover. He won't answer. He won't let Mr. Box in. He won't? Who won't? Who won't, Mr. Box? The guest in 812, right this way, Mr. Clover, right down the hall. Every time I open the door, he throws a bottle at Mr. Box's head. Does he hit Mr. Box? Three times, here and here and here. This is in room. Mr. Box will unlock the door for you. Now you'll go back to your desk and Mr. Clover will go in. Very well, but just be careful of those bottles. He always aims at Mr. Box's head. Yeah, don't worry. All right, you. Hey, what are you... Put down that bottle. I said put it down. That's better. Now tell me, it's so funny. It's funny, Mr. Box. It's the funniest thing. Look, it's all here in this paper. Go ahead, Mr. Read it for yourself. Yeah. Hey, this paper's two days old. Sure, sure it is. I got it two days ago. Go ahead, read that obituary right where I'm pointing. John Lomax, victim of hit-and-run accident, was buried today at the Queen's Cemetery. He was survived by his wife, Martha Lomax. God, the Lomax of 36 dogs he plays. I called for a drink. I'm Lomax, Mr. I'm John Lomax. Huh? Sure, sure, and Martha's my wife. Look, I'll tell you about it. I'm looking. Tell me. Four nights ago. Yeah, it was four nights ago when whoever was supposed to be me was hit-and-run. I went to a Turkish bath, you know. So you had a bath, so? So they stole my overcoat and they stole my wallet, rolled me. But I was too smart for them. Yeah, you sure were. How were you too smart for them? I had some money rolled up in my shirt sleeves. Trick I learned in the Navy. Enough to pay for booze in this crummy room. I caused for another drink on them. How long have you been here? Since then. I saw the papers I've been laughing ever since. Why don't you go home? I'll tell you why. Tell me. I think my wife is happy I'm dead. Yeah. Yeah, she is. Mr. Lomax. Hey. Hey, Mr. Lomax. The burning mask of foolish delight and motley bliss arranged itself on the face of John Lomax. And having so arranged itself, Mr. Lomax proceeded to fall flat on same. John Lomax had been hilarious because another man died bearing his name and identity. So much happiness over the dead makes me curious. So I went out to the home of John Lomax in Queens. It was like every other home on the block. Even the cracks in the stucco were identically placed. But what made the Lomax home different was it had a different number over its doorbell. Yes. Mrs. Lomax. Mrs. John Lomax. Yes. I'm Danny Clover of the police, Mrs. Lomax. Police? Don't be frightened, Mrs. Lomax. Well, come in, Mr. Clover. Please, come in. Thank you. Oh, I'd pick up these things. Woman's pajamas look so lost just lying on a chair. Here, sit here, Mr. Clover. Thanks. It's about your husband, Mrs. Lomax. What? When did you see him last? Forgive me, Mr. Clover, but I don't quite understand what you're driving at. My husband is dead. We buried him two days ago. Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Lomax. I'm sorry. It's just that... Well, how are you sure it was your husband who died? What? Oh. You mean because he was so badly smashed up in the accident. I knew him because it was his wallet they found on the dead man. And John's overcoat. Maybe that wasn't enough. Maybe it was someone else. It wasn't. I know because there was a card in the coat advertising the bag-dead bads. John always went there for days on end instead of home. What did your husband look like, Mrs. Lomax? Do you have a picture of him I could see? I'm afraid not. After the funeral, I tore up every picture of John and of John and me that was in the house. John was dead. And it was done. Can you understand that? Will you describe him to me? I mean a physical description. Coloring, weight. John was 5'11". He had a punch. I mean, he weighed about 180 pounds. He was overweight. He had thin, sandy hair and kind of faded blue eyes. And a kind of funny, loose face. That's...that's...what? Mrs. Lomax, there's something... I got the papers. You miss me, doll? Oh, who? Paul. Paul. This is Mr. Danny Clover of the police department. He was asking about John. What do you want to know about John Lomax and why? Mrs. Lomax, you haven't introduced me to your friend. Oh, how silly of me. I was so flustered when Paul just walked in without knocking or anything. You gave me the key so I could run out for the papers. Remember, doll? Oh, of course. I thought it would be simpler that way. This is Paul Rand, Mr. Clover. A very talented pianist. A sort of protege of John and me. Of you, doll. I'm sorry I haven't the mood to play something for you, Mr. Clover. So you'll tell me instead what there is about John Lomax you're bothering Martha about. I'll tell you, protege. There's a drunk in the Dober Hotel who says he's John Lomax and he says John Lomax is not dead. Never did die. You think maybe he's lying? Oh, of course he's lying. My husband is dead. Isn't he, Paul? Yeah, sure, doll. Dead. What are you building, policeman? Who are you going to believe, a drunk or a widow? Get out of here. Leave her alone. The look on their faces was like a motion picture you'll watch where suddenly the action is frozen and still. A boy, maybe 24, with an animal's hard grace, the lips drawn tight away from his teeth, the eyes wary and stagnant and the woman more mature, gentler, almost pretty but in her eyes, nothing, nothing she wants you to see. A telephone directory gives you the address of the Baghdad Baal so you go there because you have to sweat out some questions on a man who says he's John Lomax and not deceased. You walk up three flights of a dank building on 9th Avenue and there's a danked car that says Baghdad Baal's Ephraim Sabo Proprietor, Waldo Toklis Proprietor. You walk in, ask for Ephraim or Waldo of a receptionist who's beating her eyelashes and she winks you back to the steam room. Hey, Ephraim. Hey, Waldo. Maybe you better come out. It's the police, Ephraim. Or is it Waldo? Put on a towel and come out. Well, you come to the right place. Nothing like Baghdad Baal's to draw out of a man what's bothering him. I bet. Ephraim, you know a man named John Lomax? No, I'm well. John Lomax used to come here every weekend like for his pores to feel good. Hasn't been here lately, though. Maybe because you rolled him, stole his overcoat and wallet. You from the police, you say? That's what I said. Yeah, we rolled him, stole those things. But then Waldo stole them from me. Your partner? Where is he? Disappeared. Walked out of here with Mr. Lomax Belongans. Which belonged to me by squatters' rights? He disappeared. How long has he been gone? Four or five days. For all I care, he could have dropped dead because he sinned against me. I got news for you, Ephraim. He may have done just that. Waldo, dropped dead? When? Four or five days ago, maybe. Hit and run, maybe. You mean Waldo was in an accident? Maybe. Why didn't I know about it? I'm all he's got. Because he sinned and stole another man's overcoat and wallet. So he was buried under an assumed name, maybe. John Lomax, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe you ain't sure. Maybe I ain't. I'm sure of one thing. You sin, too. Ephraim. Uh-huh. Change that towel for something more formal. We're going for a ride. You're coming in late this morning. It's 11.30 in the AM. Oh, come in here to tag me. Yeah, Danny. Shut the door. Yeah, sure, sure. Oh, what's up, Danny? A riddle is up. A guy is killed in a hit-and-run accident. Identified as John Lomax. Buried as John Lomax. Now I'm not sure he's John Lomax. Hey, that's a good riddle. It gets better. There's a guy sleeping it off at the Dover Hotel who says he's John Lomax. He does? Who? Who does Danny? Tagly, you know what I'd do if I were Sergeant? Oh, yeah, Danny, sure. If you were a sergeant, you would send an order for the exhumation of the body of the first mentioned Lomax. Uh, the dead Lomax. Yeah, that's exactly what I'd do. Do it. Yeah, sure, Danny, sure. Uh, what are you going to do on account of you're a lieutenant? I'm going to dig up a live man who calls himself Lomax. I want to introduce him to a woman who calls herself his widow. So I said to myself, I said, Mr. Box, this man has indeed some pride left after all. Yeah, what made Mr. Box say that? Of course, the guest in 812 took a shower a few minutes ago. That's a good sign on New Year's Eve. Mr. Box is happy for him. I'll take the elevator back down, Mr. Box. I'll find my way to 812 myself. Mr. Lomax. Come on, Lomax. Open the door. Lomax. Dan, I've got a key. You caught Mr. Box? Give me your pass key. You what? Give me the key. Of course, here you are. Oh, wait for Mr. Box. Lomax. Lomax, it's Danny Clover. Did he do it, Mr. Clover? Did he turn over a new leaf? My goodness, what's that far escape winner doing open? Letting in that cold. Winner. Mr. Box, now you can say to yourself, you can say, a murderer threw a man out of a window in my hotel. This is my beat starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. $53,000 in cold hard cash and wonderful prizes. What a wonderful ending that would be to the old year. Well, Sing It Again is coming along with all that in the jackpot tonight, and some smart CBS listener can knock it off by solving the phantom voice riddle. Sing It Again is heard on most of these same CBS stations. So a $53,000 Happy New Year, maybe. Happy New Year anyway, for Sing It Again is heard every Saturday night. On the happy holidays, Broadway wears the happy clothes, complete with happy masks. The wooden barriers are up on the shop windows, and Broadway's herd stampede's down the long alley. The dust it raises is confetti. Whirlwinds of confetti, bursts of confetti that explode and play like marvelous fountains. The jewels of light they reflect is the light of neon and masters. There's a Mazda at police headquarters, too. It casts a veil of yellow light and it hangs in the long, concrete hallway that leads to the morgue. When the sergeant speaks, it makes a cold echo. Now, Danny. Okay, Tatuglia. Ephraim. My, my, that's neat. But you something like that, none of Baghdad baths. Slide them in and slide them out when they're done. Shouldn't make no quips in here, should I? Who is this man, Ephraim? That's a little hard to tell. Could be John Lomax. Same who used to habituate my sweat baths. Same Ian Waldo stole from. Same John Lomax who'd drink more so he could perspire more. Could be. Hey, you fellas come up with Waldo yet? Take Ephraim out of here, Tatuglia, and send Mrs. Lomax in. Yeah, Danny, sure. Come on, Ephraim. Hey, look. Did you say that these baths are really quick with the system? Ain't nothing like them, kiddo. Why did you have me brought here, Mr. Clover? I want you to identify a man. A man who was murdered. A man who once told me you were his wife. Is that, is that the man? You tell me, Mrs. Lomax. I never saw him before in my life. There is a kind of resemblance, but I never saw him. I don't, I don't understand why you want to torture me, Mr. Clover. You say this man is not your husband. No, no. Please, Mr. Clover, please take me out of here. All right. Mrs. Lomax, did your husband carry insurance? Is that going to help you find out who ran down my husband? Maybe, I don't know. My lawyer is handling all that. Harold Quillen in the craft building. He is a lawyer. He answers rude questions. Why don't you ask them of him? Yeah, I'll do that, Mrs. Lomax. You can go home now. It didn't work well. Her casual way of considering the insurance, for example. Things like insurance need worrying about. How else can a helpless widow buy her daily needs, whatever were her daily needs? That's why I'm a policeman. I can't get my mind off details like that. They tweak me and I need to know answers. So I went to the lawyer named Harold Quillen and asked for some cooperation. Why don't you stop bothering that poor woman, Mr. Clover? Well, I'm not bothering her, Mr. Quillen. It's you. As far as I can see, we're just chatting. Isn't that what we're doing? Well, isn't that what we're doing? Answer me. Oh, does my rocking in this swivel chair annoy you? I find it restful. Rhythmic. Restful. When was the last time you were disbarred for non-cooperation, Quillen? Calm now. Look, friend. I know it's your job to protect your client. That's my job, too. To protect Mrs. John Lomax, and she needs protecting. For my nasty little mind that makes me flink sometimes, that everybody's a potential murderer. You, me, everybody. But I don't see... And since Mrs. John Lomax is pretty close to what's a murder, my nasty little mind makes her pretty close to being a murderer. How much insurance did her husband carry? $50,000. For accidental death? I was just coming to that. Double indemnity for accidental death. As a corpse, Mr. Lomax is worth exactly $100,000. A man who is not loved gets killed, and it pays double who is loved one. And $100,000 can buy a lot of things. Can buy back the lost years. A woman can buy them back by getting herself a protege, a boy who can do things with a piano. A boy who can make a woman remember she was once a girl. What all that money bought me was a trip back to Queens to a house like all other houses on the block, even to not having a morning reef on its door. But from this particular house came the sound of big music. Oh, it's the police again. You know, I can't get it out of my mind you're a door-to-door salesman. Ever in that line of work, Mr. Clover? Mrs. Lomax, I want to talk to her. What about? You can tell me, I'm her friend. I get her the morning papers, remember? So talk to me. Mrs. Lomax. Go away like the rain. Come again some other day. Mrs. Lomax. Mrs. Lomax is not in, Mr. Clover. Sorry, Mr. Clover. Oh, I changed my mind. I'll talk to you, Paul. I came all the way out here so I might as well talk to somebody. Come in. Come in, Mr. Clover. Thanks. You sure you were never a salesman? That foot in the door gimmick, very professional. Yeah, I studied. I told you she's not home, but you don't have to believe that if you don't want to, like you're not believing it now. Look in this closet, policeman. Maybe I'm lying. Maybe she's in here, huh? No. Not in here. Tell me about Martha and you, Paul. Gladly. Can I tell you the music? I feel better with music. It makes me polite. It makes you polite. The romance of Paul and Martha. That's music, like this. The big musical romance. When did it begin? Some place in time, some place in space. I'm a square, Paul. I don't understand big talk like that. What month, what year? That's what I understand. The month? May. What else? Merry, merry month. The year? 1949. Hey, is it still 1949, policeman? Her husband. When did she tell you about him? His husband, Paul? Martha told me he existed, but I never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance. Charming setup, huh? You never met your patron? No. Oh, pity. I was gonna be so brave and noble and 100% fellow when I met him. I can tell you're a prince. Oh, sure, sure. That's what Martha calls me sometimes. Sometimes. Yeah, I was gonna tell the old John boy the deluded husband who it was was deluding him. Yeah, but you never got the chance. No. The dope gets himself killed in an accident before I can release him. Yeah. Thanks, Paul, for the music. For just being you. You know the way out, huh? Oh, maybe a motive, just maybe. See you. Hey, wait, wait. Wait a minute, Danny. Don't you want the report on the exhumation? Yeah, tell it to me. Well, the prince checked with those that are on file on an application for a permit for the Baghdad Beds, made out to one Waldo Tockless. Yeah, the drunk was right. Yeah. Oh, Danny, you got a visitor in your office. Oh, who? Mrs. Lomax. Well, ain't you surprised, Danny? Uh-uh. I'm not surprised at all. Hello, Mr. Clover. Mrs. Lomax. You know Mrs. Lomax, I was just telling Sergeant to tag you. I was just telling him I'm not surprised at all. About what? Your being here. If you're here to tell me you killed your husband, that'll make two coincidences all at once. Mr. Clover. You didn't mean what you just said. That's cruel. That's one of the words they use about violent death. I can even attend it to the death of Waldo Tockless. Who? Waldo Tockless. A petty thief who also ran a Turkish bath. It goes like this, Mrs. Lomax. Waldo stole your husband's coat and wallet. In the dark he was run down by a hit-and-run driver, by someone who thought it was your husband, someone who wanted your husband dead. No. No, it wasn't like that. Not like that. That's why I came here to tell you. I'm frightened, Mr. Clover. Frightened. Your upper lip didn't even quiver down there in the morning. Why didn't you tell me then? That was your husband, wasn't it? The dead man downstairs. Why didn't you tell me then? Frightened. Don't you see? Of whom? Me? Sergeant Otaglia? Your conscience? The pianist? Paul Rand? Which? Paul. I just looked around the room. He's not here. Tell me all about Paul Rand. Paul killed Waldo Tockless. Ran over him from the way Tockless was dressed. He thought it was my husband. Did he say pardon me after he killed him? Stop it! Stop it! He didn't know. Not until you told him my husband was alive at that hotel. So Paul went there and killed my husband. You sound glad. Cold. But if you're unemotional about a man's dying, you're glad he's dead. My husband was a heel. But I didn't kill him. I didn't. I thought it really was an accident until Paul told me what he'd done. Oh, Paul. Paul! Start with Paul and go on from there. Yes, he's a killer. He enjoys killing. I'm frightened. Don't you understand? He enjoys it. If he knew I were here, he'd... Maybe he would. I think we'll go ask him. Paul. You tilt your head backward, Paul. You'll notice company. Me. Oh, it's you again, Claude. Don't bite your lip. You're dreaming this whole thing. Paul, I... Oh, Paul. Come on, doll. What are you trying to say? This. I made an honest effort to say you're a killer. That's what, huh? Yeah. I'm piecing it all together and I come up with this. You killed Waldo Toclas, mistake. You killed John Lomax, no mistake. Reason, a widow with a hundred grand reason for you to be a killer. Right. What you're saying goes as rain. Martha probably said I didn't mind it either, huh? Something like that. That's why I can get dreamy about pointing this gun at you. You don't have to. I'm not finished talking. You're finished. Unless your next sentence starts with a prayer, you're just about done. I'd point that gun at Martha to be smarter. Rush me, Claude. That way you can die in action. Yeah. Yeah, exactly that. Yeah! Woman, you're crazy. That's good. Paul's dead. That's good. He needed to be dead. Yeah, give me that gun, Mrs. Lomax. Oh, here. Take it. I'm afraid of it. I don't know where I got the courage to pull the trigger. Emotions, Mrs. Lomax. Sometimes they get the better of us and they make us pull the trigger one way or another. You want to thank me, I know, but they won't. All right, I won't. I wasn't going to. You weren't for saving your life? Did you do that? If you did, that's what you were thinking about when you had emotions. Thanks. But I shot him because... Because... Why? Don't you see? Of course you do. I shot him because he was going to kill you. That's your version. I've got one. Don't you have to call your office, report this or something? Paul's dead, you know. He'll stay that way. Don't be frightened, not of Paul. Of me. Of you? Because you gave it all away. The way what? What are you saying? About Paul, the promises you must have made to him for killing your husband. Whatever kind of love you promised him, whatever share of $100,000, things like that. You knew all the time. Honestly, when I found out the man you identified as your husband was Waldo Toclas, when Paul told me he never met your husband... But he didn't. Of course he didn't. So you had to tell him how your husband was dressed so he could kill him with a car. That would include the coat he was wearing. It was like that, Mrs. Lornax. Yes. Look. Hey, get away from that door. Don't worry, I'm not going to run away. It's the new year, Mr. Clover. It's a time for wishing good things. Some people do. You want to know my wish, Mr. Clover? It won't come true if you tell me. I know it won't anyhow. But it's this. I wish there was some way. Some way, Mr. Clover. It would make my new year a happy one. If there was some way I could kill you. His laughter and crowd and holiday and swirl. The fine thing that glanced in the words. A happy new year. It means it. The avenue means it with its heart. It happens once a year on Broadway. The godliest, the most violent. The lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway. My Beat. Stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover and is written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin. The musical score was arranged by Alexander Courage and conducted by Wilbur Hatch, and our pianist was Sam Furman. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. The cast tonight included Charles Calvert, Jeanette Nolan, J. Novello, Leo Penn, Fred Howard, Bob Bruce, and Barton Yarborough. Now stay tuned for Sing It Again, which follows immediately on most of these same CBS stations. Joe Walter speaking. This is CBS, where you'll find Broadway's My Beat every Saturday night, the Columbia Broadcasting System.