 In just a moment, to Spen with Edward G. Robinson. Boy, have I got the hiccups. I'll say you have. And the way you're sputtering you sound like a car that needs a set of new auto lights vodka. No, Hap, it isn't funny. Billy, have you tried drinking a glass of water while you hold your breath? Mom, I'm so full of water now. I feel like an auto light stay full battery. Men never take anything seriously. Maybe what Billy needs is a hiccup. I mean a checkup. An auto light ignition service station. Mind help if I could get my mind on something else. Say, I know it'll make you forget those hiccups and give you a bunch of thrills to boot. A switch to auto light, Mary. It's time for suspense. Suspense. And its 60,000 dealers and service stations bring you Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills. Starring tonight, Mr. Edward G. Robinson in Anton Leader's production of The Man Who Wanted to Be Edward G. Robinson. A tale well calculated to keep you in. Suspense. I'm making this statement in accordance with a promise to a very dear friend. It's a complete statement in every detail, even including those matters which are to me personally most incriminating. Because my trust in my friend is such that I have the slightest concern on that score. Or any other. What follows concerns primarily two persons. Myself, Homer J. Hubbard. And my wife, Ada Samsie Hubbard. Even when I was courting Ada, I was aware that hers was a strong and domineering personality, say the least. And after we were married, well, at first I put up with Ada's constant nagging and petty persecutions as best I could. I put up with them for 20 long years. It wasn't until a memorable evening a little over a year ago that the first-day outlines of an escape and finally a plan began to take shape in my mind. You see, I never was much of a one-for-movies, but Ada and I had gone to see a picture called Little Caesar. It was a reissue, I think they call it, with an actor in it who might never even heard of it before. Oh, so you thought you're right on me, huh? Well, get this. Nobody rats on Little Caesar, see? The moment I saw that face on the screen, the minute I heard that voice, the world of reality around me simply ceased to exist. I lived that picture. I was Little Caesar. I was Edward G. Robinson. I was dimly conscious that my voice was like hers, that even my face without my spectacles and with my hair parted differently might have been mistaken for his, but it was more than that. It was his personality that fascinated me and that I assumed. Calm, assured, tough, kind of a man who made people do what he wanted done, the way he wanted it done. Now, walking out of the movie theater afterward, I knew something had happened. It was going to change my whole life. Well, there's a man. Little Caesar, they call him, and well, they may. And that Edward G. Robinson. I'll wage a he's-no-caste for milk toast either. Yes, dear. What does it take to arouse a little enthusiasm in you anyway? Well, Ada. Here you've seen a fine performance, a picture that'd get anybody in the world excited. Not sure. And all you can say is, yes, dear. Mm-hmm. I wish you were half the man that Robinson is. Mm-hmm. From that moment I no longer really cared what Ada wished to thought. I'd begun my escape into a dream world of my own making, a world in which I was Edward G. Robinson. As the weeks went by, I began to identify myself with him more and more. I imagined myself in countless dangerous situations, and when no one was looking, I imitated him and I affected his mannerisms. I would start daydreaming at my desk, wondering what the other people in the office would think if I suddenly exposed this hidden side of my personality. Okay, everybody. Stay where you are. Hold your hands on me ahead. What is this? I don't want any monkey business scene. I'll stand back there, Ryan. Any funny stuff from you, and I'll let you have it. Hubbard, this is preposterous. What do you mean by such behavior? Is this your idea of a joke? I will see whether it's a joke or not if you make one false move. Now, this isn't a water pistol I'm holding here, you know? Hubbard, you're fired. Leave this office immediately. Well, I'm getting out all right, but I'm not fired, see? I'm leaving well here. That's where you come in, Mr. Ryan. Oh, please, please, Hubbard, be reasonable. Now, shut up and do what I tell you. Give me your hands up in the air. Well, there, walk over to that safe. Open it up. Get all the money out of it and put it right here on the desk in front of me. I don't want to have any trouble with you, Ryan. I'm going to count three. And if you're not moving when I finish, you'll never move again, see? One, two, hubbard. Huh? What are you doing daydreaming? Oh. You better get busy. I should be forced to report you to Mr. Pemberton again. Yeah. Oh, oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Ryan. I'm terribly sorry. I can't understand what could have come over me. Well, that's the way it went. At the office, walking down the street, riding home on the bus, my life outwardly come and well-ordered. Possibly even though it was actually 24 hours of harrowing adventure with myself as the central figure. I saw every Edward G. Robinson picture that came out. It was the day after seeing Key Largo for the third time that Ada finally caught me. I was lathering my face and talking to myself. Okay, I'll rat you out for it. You don't come out today. We'll come in and get you, see? And we're coming in shooting, see? What's that? Oh, yeah? And only a dirty yellow rat would say that. Okay, boys, let him have it. Well, I never, of all the full performances I ever heard of, this beats everything. What in the world are you jabbering about in here? Well, it's really nothing, dear Ada. I was just sort of trying to imitate Edward G. Robinson. You were what? Edward G. Robinson. Yeah. Oh, that's rich. You trying to imitate Edward G. Robinson. Let me interrupt the performance, Mr. Movie Star. Come on, come on. Do your act for me. Well, dear, I don't see anything so funny about it. Maybe you don't, but you're the only person in the world. What? I'll leave you to your rehearsing. Why don't you imitate Eddie Bracken or Margaret O'Brien? I think you'll find it easier. It was right then that I decided to kill her. For Suspense, Auto Light is bringing you Mr. Edward G. Robinson in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills, Suspense. It looks like Billy's all over those hiccups thanks to Edward G. Robinson and Suspense. Shh, don't mention hiccups again. He might get them back. Let's switch his mind to something else. Well, you know how he is about anything Auto Light makes. Let's listen to Frank Martin. That'll do the trick. Friends, money can't buy better electrical equipment for your car than Auto Light. And here's why. In the first place, Auto Light is the world's largest independent manufacturer of automotive electrical equipment, original factory equipment for many of the finest cars and trucks in America. In its 26 nationwide plants, Auto Light manufactures distributors, generators, starting motors, spark plugs, batteries, wire, not to mention such things as bumpers, die castings, horns, instruments and gauges, lights, ornamental plastics, and over 400 other products. What's more, Auto Light service stations all over the country are staffed with trained men and specialized machines to give your car the best possible electrical service. So friends, when your car's electrical equipment needs attention, drive into your nearest Auto Light service station or the dealer who sells your make of car and ask for original factory parts and service. Remember, Auto Light service stations are listed in your classified telephone directory under Automotive Electrical Equipment. And now, Auto Light brings back to our Hollywood sound stage Mr. Edward G. Robinson in The Man Who Wanted to Be. Edward G. Robinson. A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. I might have decided to have Missy on her if she'd only let me alone. But Ada could never leave anyone alone. She really killed me at home and in front of our friends. Sometimes she'd let a few weeks go by without saying anything and I would think that perhaps she had forgotten. No, Ada never forgot. She would wait until we were in a group of people and then she would come out with it. Well, my dear, you mean I haven't told you about Homer's dream world? He thinks he's Edward G. Robinson. Oh, no! Do tell us, Mr. Homer G. Robinson, when do you think you'll be getting your next contract from Hollywood? Oh, you folks have got Homer all wrong. He's a killer at heart. He's an old-blooded killer! I want to buy a gun. Yes, sir. What kind of a gun? Well, I don't know much about guns, but that one looks all right. Yes, yes. It's a nice little gun. It's $28.50. Do I have to have a license? Oh, not unless you're going to carry it on your person. Otherwise, we just register it for the police records under your name. What's the name? Oh, Edward G. Robinson. I beg your pardon. You heard me, mug. Edward G. Robinson. See? I had made my plans very carefully. My plan was that Homer would look like Searside. It would be a night when the moon was full so that I could see a head on the pillow and aim carefully. I would fire the shot through the temple, quickly wipe my fingerprints from the handle of the gun, and then push it into her hand. And as the shocked and bereaved husband, I would call Dr. Wallace. The police wouldn't come until later, and when they did, I would be ready for them. I was so busy playing my plans that I hadn't been reading the papers and had to be told the big news. Homer? Oh, I beg your pardon. Mr. Robinson. Would you mind passing the spinach? That is, if you're not too preoccupied with planning your next murder. Please, please, Ada. Yeah, held up any banks lately, Homer? Here you are, dear. Oh, say, that reminds me, all kidding aside, did you know that he's gonna be here next week? Who? Edward G. Robinson. He's going to address the hobbyist convention. Oh, is that so? Yeah, sure. Well, I'd like to hear him. I would, too. Oh, I'd love to see what a real he-man is like. Not just a poor imitation. We went, and at first it was the most terrible disappointment of my life, because he wasn't tough or hard-boiled or anything like it. He seemed to be a mild-mannered little fellow, a little shy, almost like me. He talked about orchids and modern art. There were his hobbies, he said, raising orchids and collecting paintings, modern paintings. Yes, but as the lecture went on, I began to understand by the time it was over, I knew. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I consider myself twice-blessed. Every man is blessed who has a hobby, but I am among the fortunate few who have two hobbies. And as the fellow said, whose fiancee had a twin sister, I love them both. Thank you, thank you very much. Later that evening, I made an excuse to get away from Ada and went down to the hotel where I knew Mr. Robinson was staying. I bribed the bellboy, one dollar and seventy-five cents, to tell me which was his room. I went down the hall and knocked at the door of 708. Western Union, come on in. Just put it on the... Well, say, Western Union dresses their boys up pretty snappy in this town, don't they? I must apologize for adopting the sub-diffusion, Mr. Robinson, but I have something of the utmost importance to discuss with you. And I was afraid you might not see me since... Well, we've never been formally introduced. Warmly introduced, that's all right. What is it, autograph? I'm afraid it's something a good deal more serious than that, Mr. Robinson. Yeah? Well, you caught me right in the middle of shaving, as you see, but if you know why am I finishing the job while you talk, come right along inside, tell me all about it. Thank you. Well, now, what's on your mind? Well, Mr. Robinson, I have a problem and I feel you are the person best fitted in the world to tell me what to do. That's all, well, what is the problem? Mr. Robinson, suppose, of course, this is purely hypothetical, but suppose you were going to kill somebody. Kill somebody? Yes, in your own home, somebody was, shall we say, related to you. Yeah, now, hold on a minute, Mr. Hubbard. Homer J. Hubbard. Mr. Hubbard, I may look like a bad guy on the screen, but when I'm not working, I'm just a plain, peace-loving citizen like anybody else. Oh, you can fool people like that audience tonight with all that talk about orchids and modern art, and it was very good, and I quite understand why you do it. A man in your position must have a front, of course, but you didn't fool me. I didn't, huh? Well, I know, rather, I knew I could come to you and be perfectly frank. Yeah, but why? About the murder. About the what? Look at me, Mr. Robinson. I'm a shy, inhibited, weak, utterly ineffectual person. I have none of your assurance, your hardness, your ability to cope with any situation in a direct, ruthless way. Yeah? How many times I wished I had, for 20 years my life has been made horribly, unbearably miserable by one person, my wife. Oh, so that's the way it is. Yes. For years I bore it as best I could, and then one day I thought, how would you have coped with it? Of course I'd do it once. You would kill it. Yeah, now, wait a minute, are you kidding me? Oh, no, no, Mr. Robinson, I wouldn't think of such a thing. Look, look here. I even secured a gun to do it with. Yeah, you better give me that. No, no, don't point it. Hand it to me by the barrel. Here. Put it over here. Say for you now. Yeah, I must admit, I know very little about firearms, and they're quite distasteful to me. As you and me both. You, Mr. Robinson? Well, I mean small arms like that. Of course, a Tommy gun, that's different. That's the only thing to use. Yeah, I suppose you're right. But I didn't know where to get a Tommy gun. I was afraid even if I did, I'd never master the art of using it. Yeah, well, now you want to kill your wife, is that it? You want me to help you? If you would, Mr. Robinson, if you could spare the time, I can't tell you how grateful I'd be. Yeah, well, you know, now Mr. Hubbard, you look like a pretty nice little guy. Well, it must really be an old battle axe to have got you in a frame of mind like this. All right, now I'll tell you what I'll do. I will help you. Oh, Mr. Robinson. Yes, but it's got to be done my way. See, it's got to be done right. You've got to plan these things. Take this gat, this little flea, for instance, that you've got over there. That's no kind of a rod to kill your wife with. The caliber is all wrong. This would be on your trail just like that. Now, I got a gat home that's perfect for the job. Get me? I've knocked off Orson Welles, Jimmy Keck. Oh, I don't know how many guys with this. Now, the first thing when I get home, I'll send it to your parcel post. See? Would you, Mr. Robinson? Oh, sure, sure. Now, when you get it, just lay low, see? Now, don't do a thing till you hear from me. I'll lay this thing out on some of my boys, and then I'll get in touch with you. Okay? Oh, yes, Mr. Robinson. I don't know how to thank you. I'll forget it, pal. What's a little moiter between friends? I could scarcely maintain my composure in the two days that followed. The second day, sure enough, the gun arrived. It was a great, heavy thing, the kind that's referred to, I think, is an automatic. Remembering its history, I handled it with the utmost care of reverence. I hid it in the garage where I keep my pipe that Ada won't let me smoke in the house. It was the next afternoon, a Saturday, that the phone rang. I rushed into the bedroom to answer it and close the door after me, so Ada wouldn't hear in case it was. Yes? Uh, this is Eddie. Eddie? Yeah, yeah, you know... Oh, yes, yes, Miss... Uh, Eddie. You get that package I sent you? Oh, yes, yes, I got it. No, I won't. I understand. Oh, I say, uh... Oh, yes, yes, the phone's in the bedroom and the door is closed. Do everything just as you say. Eddie followed his instructions to the letter. Oh, seemed ours before Ada went to sleep that night. Seemed days until my watch finally crept around towards midnight. But at last the time had come. I crept out of bed, got the gun out of my coat pocket and took my physician on the landing outside the bedroom door as he had told me to. And then suddenly, suddenly the phone rang. The plan was ruined. Even Edward G. Robinson couldn't have foreseen this. I rushed back into the bedroom, hoping against hope that I could catch it before Ada woke up, but she already had the light on. Homer, what in the world are you doing prowling around at this time of night with a gun in your head? Why, I thought I heard a burglar. Burglar? When I've answered this phone, I want to talk to you. Homer, Jeremiah Hubbard, hello? Yes. What? Oh. Homer, there is a burglar. Someone just saw him trying to get into the house. Are you sure? Of course I am. A man just phoned that he saw the burglar. Well, don't just stand there. You've got a gun, go on down and stop him. Come on, do you want us to be killed in our beds? Come on, I say. Oh, wait. Why do you have to spoil everything? It was nothing to do but go. I crept down the stairs in the darkness. I knew what Edward G. Robinson would have done. He would have gone down and captured the burglar without the slightest trouble and turned him over to the police. After giving him the beating he deserved, but somehow I didn't feel much like Edward G. Robinson just then. It was at that moment that the terrible thought occurred to me that maybe it wasn't the burglar. Maybe this was Edward G. Robinson. I had no time to pursue the thought further. Let him have it. Suddenly, suddenly, there was a barrage of shots and a confused yelling of voices. In my terror, I suppose I must have squeezed the trigger of my own gun because it began jumping and jumping in my hand. I jumped on something and the next thing I knew I was tumbling headlong down the stairs and that was the last I remembered. Ada was holding my head in her arms and she was crying. They made me stay in bed for a couple of days, but I really didn't mind. The reporters to see me and take my picture for the paper and all kinds of people, even Mr. Ryan and Mr. Pemberton came to see me and... Ada? Well, Ada was simply a changed person. Nothing was too good for me. My slightest wish was literally a command. If the whole thing hadn't been an accident, if I'd planned it that way, it couldn't have turned out better. Then... Then was the final climax that afternoon when the phone rang by my bed. Yes? Oh, yes! Eddie? You did, uh... Oh, nothing, nothing really. Yes? Oh. Well, about that, things have changed. Oh, yes, they've changed quite a lot. I don't think we'll have to go through with it. Yeah, that's right. Oh, sure, sure, she's right here. Just a minute. Eddie wants to talk to you, Ada. Eddie? Eddie Robinson. Quite a pal of mine. You mean Edward G. Robinson? Oh, yes. He... We had quite a little chat that night. He was in town after I left you. He got pretty chummy. Come on. Oh, yes. Oh, yes, Mr. Robinson. Oh, I know he is. Oh, I certainly will, Mr. Robinson. Yes, yes, I know I'm very lucky. All right, Mr. Robinson. Goodbye. Oh, oh, my, he knew all about it. He'd seen it in the papers. Yeah, so he said. A real hero, bigger than any movie hero that ever was. He did, huh? Oh, Homer. Well, if Eddie Robinson says I'm a hero, I guess maybe I am. Couldn't have turned out better, Eddie. You know how grateful I am. I'm a regular little Caesar around town now, and my married life is all I've ever wanted to be. Of course, there are some things about the whole thing that confuse me a little. It has even occurred to me, I'll confess that you might have had more of a hand-knit that was generally known, and that the gun you sent me might have contained blanks. I believe you call them because in spite of all the shooting, there wasn't one bullet hole anywhere in the house. And the gun had disappeared, which confused the police on what, too, and the burglars might have been some of your boys playing a little joke. But I don't think you would do a thing like that to a pal, Eddie. Would you? I don't even think you would use this statement that you asked me to send you to hold over my head as a guarantee that I wouldn't try to kill Eddie again. No, no, not that I ever would. Yes, but even if you did all that, Eddie, I don't really mind. Because as you might say yourself, what's a little joke between pals? Thank you, Edward G. Robinson, for a splendid performance. Mr. Robinson will return in just a moment. My, that was a wonderful performance. Wasn't it half? Sure was. How are the hiccups? Oh, God, Dad, I think I lost them during Mr. Martin's last auto-light commercial. That's fine. Well, I guess it's time to... Oh, my gosh. Now I've got them. Mary, turn up Frank Martin again quick. Auto-light original factory parts and auto-light service stations work as a team to help you maintain carefree, economical performance for your car. So, friends, when your car's electrical system needs attention, drive into your nearest auto-light service station or the dealer who sells your make-of-car and ask for original factory parts and auto-light service. Money can't buy better electrical equipment than auto-light. And remember... Auto-light means spark plugs. Ignition engineered spark plugs. Auto-light means batteries. Stay full batteries. Auto-light means ignition systems. The lifeline of your car. And now here again is Mr. Edward G. Robinson. It's been fun appearing in our suspense story tonight, just so nobody gets the wrong idea it was only a story. I'm not really so doubtful. Only get this. I'm telling you, say, you better listen to suspense next week, say? Because Ray Mulan will be here in the story called Night Cry by William L. Stewart. Another gripping study in... Suspense. Edward G. Robinson may soon be seen in the Paramount production Night Has A Thousand Eyes. Tonight's suspense play was written by Leslie Raditz with music composed by Lucian Morrowick and conducted by Lud Blusken. The entire production was under the direction of Anton M. Lieder. In the coming weeks, suspense will present such stars as William Powell, Lucille Ball, John Garfield, Sydney Green Street, and many others. Make it a point to listen each Thursday to Suspense, Radio's outstanding Theatre of Prills. And next Thursday, same time, hear Ray Mulan in Night Cry. Suspense show. Drive as if your life depends on it. It does. Good night. Switch to auto light. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.