 I was a communist for the FBI. An exciting tale of danger and espionage. I was a communist for the FBI. I was a masochist. How many of the incidents in this unusual story? Here is our star, Dana Andrews, as masochist. Who, for nine fantastic years, lives as a communist for the FBI. Nine years of solitary confinement. For nine years, crowds jostled me. Waiters took my orders. Conductors punched my transfers. Operators got me telephone numbers. I was free and at large. But I was in prison. I walked in crowds when I was alone. I had comrades, but I didn't have friends. And that's only part of what it meant to be a communist for the FBI. Massive addicts under cover man. The chief and the communist party take stock of you. You don't know what you're talking to me in private. And I put on my mad face, which helps me get away with some stuff that would land other comrades in front of the control commission for disciplining. Comrade Syletik, you have lived in this town most of your life. That's right, comrade Ruffchenko. You went to Uptown Senior High School. That's right. Then you know the principal there, Mr. Dexter Delancey. I never heard of Mr. Dexter Delancey. He may have been after your time. Dexter Delancey has a very ingenious and realistic approach to the problem of influencing American youth. He's certainly in a position. He sympathizes with our cause. But so far he's been reluctant to join the party officially. Now, however, he has agreed to discuss the idea broadly. You ought to meet him at his office at four o'clock for a general chat. Once he joins the party, you will instruct him in your duties. You mean not to gloom this high about to replace me? We need him. Youth is like play in hands like his. Oh, I understand American kids pretty well myself. Or does comrade Syletik, what happens to me? You will be sent to neglected strategic areas. Found out to the miners, you mean? Sent to strategic areas. Comrade Syletik, I'm useful here and I'm at home here. I see no reason. Comrade Syletik, four o'clock. Principal Delancey's office. Cultivate him carefully. Found that somehow shrunken college is in my old high school. Same old bulletin board. Same old corner student cartoon, to be honest. Same graduation dance notice. The same decent hope for you, dear kids. But to the architects of communism, play. Red clay to be molded into totalitarian payments. That would still mean two minutes to the final bell. I'll stop in front of a familiar door. Room 10. Miss Hunter. Miss Hunter with a massive blonde hair. And the electric green eyes. Miss Hunter, my English teacher with whom I once imagined myself deathlessly in love. I reach for the door now. I was down on the doorway, dating. I've been here two looking boys reciting earnestly. But I hear him been there. It's his teacher, I'll give that. Miss Hunter. Younger and more beautiful than ever. The thick blonde hair, the green eyes. The faintly and presently feckled nose. I just stand there in an open doorway. Spellbound all over again. All right, gentlemen. Robin can show his base-wise with witness used to put them in dismay. Mixed with accurate pride and death-bad hate. Very good, Charles. Thank you. Thank you, Miss Hunter. Won't you come in, sir? For me? Oh, yes. And close the door? Oh. Are there one of our students here? What? Oh, no. No. Don't be so inquisitive about it. These are the most advanced seniors in school. Oh, yes, Miss Hunter. But the fact is, the state is not like great. The young man who'd been recycling when I came in was soaking in the sun. I feel a bond of sympathy with him. I know just how he feels. I was in love with my teacher once, too. He knew he was looking at me curiously, and then a beautiful sense of approach with me. Place out of the gold and light up yesterday. Come on. Miss Hunter, you could be my teacher, that's it. My mother. She's taking the buffalo now. Hey, you were a piece of the mother. That's use of that color. And not just the people. I would say the most sick people. I think I understand. I'm having so much similar problem with one of my students. Well, he's a good old man. I hope so. I'm not seeing your daughter between years from now. I'm so sorry we can't see mother. That's all right. Your appointment with Mr. DeLancy. Uh-huh. Where is he taking me now? Can we move him? Come down someplace. I'll give you a telephone number. I'll call you in pellet for you. Okay? Conduct a business in my life, then superior, foresee-toothed principal Dexter DeLancy gets under my skin. Get his theory for the reconditioning of young minds to the communist idea. And what is my method? It's simply this, Mr. Kubelik. So that's it. C-V-E-T-I-C. I am in a position to point out in my own history classes that our American forebears would have been communist sympathizers today. Oh, that's a good trick if you can do it. Oh, I can do it. After all, the Declaration of Independence was a document endorsed by the 13 states for the overthrow of government by force of arms. Yeah, but it was a tyrannical government. The government overthrown by the Russian Revolution was even more tyrannical. Mm, yeah. Rebellion to violence is obedience to God. That was Thomas Jefferson's personal motto. Nothing wrong with that. Wrong, it's marvelous. In his own words, the writer of the Declaration of Independence admits that revolution has the approval of heaven. Then how can the capitalist world accuse Russia of being godless? You see, et cetera. Go on, Mr. Delante. Call me Dexter. Now, look at the French for them. I'm getting tired, sick, and scared. There's danger in this smirking idiotist, so vain about his learning. In this man lies infinite danger to America, thus walking, talking, decaying, so close to our youth. I listen to him so I can remember what he says, because I've got to find the answer someplace. When I finally get out into the clean air, I dial Cheney 3211 and invite myself over to call on this merry hunter. Even if I didn't have a plan, I'd want to see her anyhow. And look at her. Just sit and look at her. Mr. Servetic, you're right on time. Come in. I walk in, stumbling stupidly on the floor, and walk into the living room and the presence of that other schoolboy admirer of Miss Hunter, the student named Charles. Mr. Master Servetic, Mr. Charles Weber. Hello, Matt. What? I've been helping Charles compose his valedictory speech for graduation. Oh, I didn't want to interrupt anything. No, I'd rather talk. I've seen him debate it, it's Charles Weber. Tom will find something to debate about, I'm sure. In less than an hour, by easy logical steps, I've managed to twist the conversation to politics. World affairs, the American Revolution. It's like a nice cold plunge. I don't want to take it, but I've got to. I don't plunge any there, I stumble in. Involuntarily, it seems, I'm repeating the slick, sick, insidious mouthings of Principal Dexter DeLancy and making Mary supply the answers I need. Well, isn't it true, Mary, that bourgeois minds considered the American Revolution radical? Isn't bourgeois a strange word coming from human? Well, I mean, conservative. Sure, it was considered radical by many. It was radical. It was nothing of the sort, Charles. It was overthrow of government by force. And if the Russian Revolution was radical, so was ours. Oh, putting it the other way, if our revolution was justifiable, so was the Russian. Our revolution was political. The Russian Revolution was social revolution by bloodshed and terror class against class. Well, what's the difference? The Russian Revolution differed from ours in its great, great respect. It substituted one form of tyranny for another. Jefferson would be sickened by the turn of events in the Russian Revolution. I challenged that, Miss Hunter. Do you, Charles? I didn't realize you were so well informed on the subject. I've had several serious discussions on the subject with Principal DeLancy, whom I respect and admire very much. In class and after class. And he maintains. But it's getting pretty late. I think I'd better be on my way. I've got the family Jalopy. Let me drop you someplace. I'd like to speak to you for a moment, Matt, privately. Oh, well, I'll take a taxi, Charles. Oh, well, thanks, anyhow. Good night, Charles. Good night, Miss Hunter. Matt. Good night, Charles. Mr. Sevedic. Oh, Matt. You haven't asked me why mother has to teach in Buffalo when she'd much rather be here with me. Well, it did occur to me to ask. She left here rather than be gagged by people like Dexter DeLancy. Gagged? How? DeLancy didn't force her out of here. She was a very powerful and persuasive man. You mean you could lose your job here, talking up to me as you just did? If you reported it to the principal, as Charles did, it's just possible, yes, Mr. Sevedic. I see. It's very late, Mr. Sevedic. I didn't mean to keep you. Uh-huh. Well, good night, Mary. Good night, Mr. Sevedic. Having to be cautious of a man like Dexter DeLancy. I have a knot in my stomach thinking about young Chuck Webber, honor student, parroting the red line right out of the horsey mouth of Dexter DeLancy. But that note of jealousy at the very end of the evening gives me the big idea. Turn Chuck against me because of Mary. And he might lump DeLancy with me and turn against him, too, maybe. I'd have to keep on supporting DeLancy's views. I'd have to keep going to Mary into fighting me on them. Because if it comes to either Mary losing her job or my losing mind, she'll have to go. It's like that sometimes, being a communist for the FBI and it hurts. It hurts bad. Sooner or later, I managed to drag in the line of old radicals today. And I hate to talk about giving Mary Hunter pain. But it works, and there's important respect. When Mary asks again to talk to me alone, Chuck Webber pounds out of this what's slamming that door. He's very jealous. I'm sorry. He has no car to be in. Then I'm sorry. I asked you to stay, to ask you a very direct question. Maybe I know what it is. I know you were seeing Principal DeLancy the day you wandered into my classroom. I didn't just wander in. I made a point of it. I'm asking you, are you a communist? Mary, Mary Hunter, you're most devoted people. Funny you should say that. All I know is what Dexter DeLancy tells me, and you wouldn't call him a red, would you? Are you going to keep away from Mary? You're a powerful 180 pounds of star pullback, Chuck. And I haven't pulled back in many a year. But the answer is no. All right. Beautiful teacher in the whole solar system. There she is. And I feel awful. Thanks for coming down. I'll ask you what happened. And I won't tell you, it's no reason. It gives me a sort of an idea of what happened. Teachers are just too smart. The custody of Mr. Stabetic into a taxi. We don't see a word until we get to his office. He sits down and high stands. He looks at me with contempt. That's OK, though. I don't admire him either. In the future, comrade Stabetic, save your street brawling for party purposes. Was it in the paper? And I came down just in time to relieve that woman of you. Who is she? Well, then. She is not in the party, I would know her. She's not in the party. Stay away from her. All right. These boys who are women with their emotional demands. Keep away. I heard you. Remember. Or you will regret it. Don't worry. She's a waitress, but she takes a few minutes at lunch to sit on a bus stop bench with me, five blocks from the school. Neither one of us is very happy, though. After the other evening, when you denied being a communist, I thought things might work out, sir. I still say I'm not a communist, Mary. What about that dreadful man who came for you in jail? Were you toadied to him if he owned you? Why? Because he does own you, body, and mind, and soul, and you don't have to tell me why. Mary, please, don't cry. I'm not. You are, though. He's sort of tender and a pupil of my mother. Holding in love with your daughter? Don't take it so hard, then, Mary. I'm not in love with you. It was a bit of nostalgia and sentimentality. You're supposed to do it that way. That's how it is. Please, please, please. Defending. Rev Chinko, I might have known it. Get in. No. You'd never understand. Defending. Don't take long. I'll stand, Rev Chinko. Very well. You did not want to be sent to some hinterland when Dexter Delancey joins us. For a while, I considered your plea. Now, however, you will go where we send you and without complaint. That is all. Don't call Mary again. I've got to see her. I just want to sit and look at her. And the place would have to be the graduation hall of uptown senior high schools. As you lump in my throat and fog in my eyes, as I watch the proudest kids in the world get their diplomas and become the greatest young men and women in the world. Then, Principal Dexter Delancey, flashing his magnificent teeth, makes a brief introduction. On a student, athletically, scholastically, and in citizenship, Charles Welles. Senior high school, English department of this high school, I have prepared a valid history, but I have decided not to give it. Instead, I should like to debate this question. Who is the most informative in that debate? Mr. Delancey? No, brother. Mr. Most Irregular Charles, give your prepared speech. Since Mr. Delancey is not prepared to debate this question publicly, I myself shall take both sides of the question and answer the un-America and subversive charges that have been made against our greatest... ...and against our founding fathers. Turk weather breaks down, cold and methodically, magnificently. Dexter Delancey gets up in the middle of it and stalks out. And when it's all over and Chuck Webber sits down, they all stand up and cheer. I stand up in my chair. I want to look at Mary Hunter. I see her. I just want to look at her. That's all. In fact, I'm prepared to undertake a full tour of beauty at once. You mean you're prepared to give the party a full and undivided time? Precisely. What about your duties at school and on the board? Well, you'll be pleased to hear that I tendered my resignation this morning as a consequence of last night's embarrassing event. Well, uh, under the circumstances of Chanku, I couldn't face a board action. You resigned. What with? Fool. What? He said, fool. I don't understand. Get out. I don't understand. Explain it to him, comrade Sevetik. You're my functionary in this district function. I have worked with the one. I don't understand. This way, Dexter. As principal, Dexter Delancey, of a metropolitan high school and a member of the board, you'd have been invaluably situated for the service of the party. But I... You could have worked behind the scenes. Instead, you became plain, Mr. Dexter Delancey, of no use to the Communist Party. Incredible. I'm ruined. Sorry, Dexter. This tumbles out in a daze. Then I walk out on air. He goes his way, and I go mine. Delancey is out, and I stay in. As undercover man working hand and glove with the FBI, the work goes on. I win. But when I win, I lose too, always. No more homework, no more books, no more teacher-sorcery looks. No more any kind of looks from my teacher. To Mary Hunter, I'm a red. It's always that way. I'm a Communist for the FBI. I walk unknown. The profession has always been outstanding in preserving our American ideals. In this story, as in all others, names, dates, and places are fictitious to protect innocent persons. Many of these stories are based on incidents in the lives of Matt Stezetic, who works undercover for the FBI. Next week, another fantastic adventure. Join us, won't you?