 Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle. The gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat, with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. In the early twilight, Broadway is dappled with beginning shadows. It's the time of the small shock. The springtime's day starts its long scream down in a night. It's time clock time, the hour for going home again. Close the ledger, lock the store, figure the overtime, smile at the boss, and out into the street, blink, then run. The subway waits for no man. Home again. End another day again. My day was just beginning, north on Broadway into the east, Central Park around the 80s, and pushed through the crowd whose focus was a parked bench that faced the street. And Sergeant Muggeman tells you why you're there. Land over here, Danny. Land right there near the bench. I found the knife. I didn't pick it up. Who's the boy? Paul Gilbert. I haven't been home from school yet. You'll go home in a squad car, Paul. I promised him with the siren, Danny. With the siren. What happened, Paul? How did the knife get there? I saw the man take it out of his own back and throw it down, and then the man staggered away. Did I show you this, Danny? All this blood? Wherever he is, he's hurt real bad. I want you to think for a minute, Paul. What did this man look like? Tall, I guess. Yeah. I guess that's all. He was tall. Most grown-ups are tall, aren't they, Paul? All of them, except for Midgets. One more thing, Paul. Was there anyone with this man? Think hard. No. I don't think so. Well, you told me that this was... The other man I saw wasn't with him. The other man in the hat just watched him. Then the man in the hat ran away. He wasn't with him. What did the man in the hat look like? He had a hat. That's all I know. I got scared. I ran. That's right, Danny. Paul ran right into Officer Curcio on the beat. Almost knocked him down. Officer Curcio came back, saw the blood on the bench. The knife phoned it in. Paul, did you know the man? The man with the knife? No. Uh-uh. I usually don't come home from school this way. We had an after-school game with the 8B2 over there on the playground. This is the first game of the intermural. A squad combat for Paul with a siren. Then the careful tracing, the sifting through the shadows of a city, the dust of a city, the hiding places of a city into which a wounded man must crawl and lie for a time and then wander in search of a kindlier place, a darker place and leave behind him the trail of the wounded, the blood of his life. But the man who'd been stabbed had done none of these things. The hospitals told me that the doctors, the fellow in the neat white jacket in the drugstore across from the park who, not having a wounded man, offered me a special unshaving cream. Then the legwork of the man on the beat, harvesting the crop of those who had been at the scene of the crime, sorting them, packaging them, parceling them out to me, one by one. Look, mister, how many rights do we have to give you, guys? I was calling on my girl. I brought her a box of chocolate-covered peppermint. She was beginning to understand me. We won't keep you long. You don't understand, mister. I don't stay close to my little bird. She busts out of her cage. I've known her to do that when I pop out two minutes for a corner newspaper. You were in the park this afternoon, saw a man who was stabbed. Can you describe the man? I was never in a park where an unfortunate got stabbed. An officer took your name. You made him erase it, start all over again because he wasn't spelling it right. So you caught me in a lie. Can you describe the man who was hurt? Describe? Who got a chance to get close to him? Everybody pushing, shoving like it was a parade for a general. I'm lucky I got a peek at the top of his fleece coat. Oh, that's all. Look, I want to explain why I lied about not being in the park. My girl, the bird, thinks I work for a living. It's a little white lie I used to keep a cage. That's all. You can go. Then the man who is eager, whose eyes dart and pierce, who follows you as you move away from him, stays close to you, needs the lapel of your coat. I was real close to him. He had a knife in his back. He breathed in my face. I could tell you the color of his eyes, how close I was. Tell me. Blue eyes, washed out blue and no tears in them, no tears at all. No remorse for the evil doing that it brought wrath upon him. Blue eyes, what color hair? Dirty, a dirty color, all matted. No. No, it was blonde and shining. It was a kind of light that shone about it. That's because he was dying. Dying in protest against all the wickedness that'll drown. Drown us all. A big man, a short man. What is a matter how he looked? I was close to him, I tell you. He reached out his hand to me, touched my hand. Tears on my face. Help him out of your office. Motion a policeman over. Watch him be gentle with a man. Take him away. And then motion for the next one to come in. I realize, of course, that you're imposing on my time. Not that I mind. It could be a welcome relief from those spoiled monsters I simper and smile at and die of her. You're a nursemaid, Miss Cram, is that right? Call me governess and call me Virginia. Miss Cram doesn't sound like me at all, don't you think? You take the children to the park every day? Four to five-thirty, except on rainy days. On rainy days, the children and I stay at home and I'm permitted callers from four to five-thirty. That's on rainy days. You told an officer you saw the man who was hurt. I was making conversation. I needed that to get those brats out of my hair. You didn't see him? I wouldn't have gone near him. But I can tell you who did see him, the looker. Who? The looker. All of us in the park know her. She sits in a window across the street on the fifth floor, watches every move we make, every day. Sits there and watches. It makes you feel as if you're being spied on. You know what I mean? Fifth floor in an apartment on eightieth and fifth. Well, you can't miss her. Just stand out in the street for a while. Her eyes will bore right through you. But on a rainy day... I know, you're permitted callers. That's all, Miss Cram. I'm Danny Clover, police. We haven't done anything? I know. I don't even know who you are. There's no name card on your door. You want to come in and talk to us? All right. I'm George Mason. She's my... in the wheelchair. Diane's my wife. Good evening, Miss Mason. Diane? Diane, dear. Anne, we've got a visitor. He said good evening to you. Say hello, Diane. This is Mr. Clover. He's from the police. Mr. Mason, there was some trouble earlier across the street from how you talked to her. You know, I'm trying something. Maybe it'll do her some good talking to her. No one ever does, you know. You just talk to her and I'll answer you. All right. There was a man stabbed across the street from you, Mrs. Mason, in the park. Yes, I heard about it when I came home. Have you found the man? No. Mrs. Mason, I understand that you sit by a window every day. That's right. That one, she sits there, watches. It's her pleasure. Today? Every day. Then she must have seen what happened. She must have... Pretty. Pretty. Pretty. What? What are you trying to say, Diane? Can't you see how it is? I'm sorry. George? Yes. What is it? I saw a man today. I saw a knife today. Is there anything you can do? Can you talk to her? Diane? A man today. A knife today. Yes, well, can you tell me what the man looked like, sweetheart? Knife. Was he a big man? Was he a small man? Was he a nice man? Man. Did you like him? And try to erase from memory the eyes of the woman filled with the name terrors, the known terrors that dart and scurry, gnaw and nibble at the fleeting instance of serenity within her, and try to wash away in the city's night screaming the crooning of a tuneless song, suddenly the known words, a man, a knife. And know that the eyes that absorb all movement, all shadow, all light on faces, and things that pass before them have seen nothing. Not the man who was stabbed, not the one who did the stabbing. And then the long walk to the darkened room, turn on the shaded light bulb, and search the cupboards for sleep, and finally it comes. In the morning, the scorching cup of coffee, the walked-ahead quarters, and the cheery greeting on the threshold from the cheery sergeant, Titian. Welcome, Danny. Welcome to your abode away from your abode. Good morning, Gino. Ah, the best. The sunniest, the bravest... Not so early, Hudgin. All I've had is a cup of coffee. For which I am delighted. Huh? For which I am delighted. Come. I will escort you to your office, Danny. You will see there how I have taken the liberty to spread upon your desk a repast. You shouldn't have done it, Gino. A repast consisting of a hot paper container of coffee and a half a dozen cinnamon bums. Water, the repast. Looks good. How else should they look? The cinnamon bums were baked in the oven of Mrs. Tartaglia with her own two lily whites. Go ahead, partake. Munch, if you like. Delicious. Thank Mrs. Tartaglia for me. Goes without saying. And now, to the events of the morning. Uh, okay if I disturb while you munch. Yeah. We have the department. I've discovered that this park bench, upon which an alleged man was allegedly stabbed, has been a lucky bench. Or unlucky. Depending, of course, on the point of view of whom sat there. You'll explain it to me, Gino. Goes without saying. The lucky part of the bench is that five weeks ago a man found upon it, wrapped in a newspaper, $300. Turned it over to Lawson found. So? So is that four weeks ago, same man turned into Lawson found from the same bench, a like newspaper containing another $300. And we have not seen this pleasant honest citizen since. Do you have his name? Goes without. Uh, Harry Forster, 1345 West 16. One, I should keep the cinnamon buns hot for you, Danny? Oh, do that, Gino. You go ahead and do that. Please help me. Please come in and help me. What's the matter? My husband. No one will help me. I asked the neighbors. They said call the police. Call an ambulance. Please help me. Where is he? You'll help. He's in our bedroom. I think he's, I think he's dying. And no one would know. Yes, Harry's wife. He came home last night and, and there was blood. He just looked at me like an animal and... There he is, mister. Help him. Please help him. Oh, you're wrong. He's been dead for a long time. He was asleep. Only asleep. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin, and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. On CBS This Sunday evening, Charlie McCarthy will play a tattoo artist for a group of sailors, while beautiful and southern acts as his reluctant model. They'll be more fun with Eve Arden, Amos and Andy, Red Skelton, and Coralus Archer. Stay with CBS This Sunday for these great comedy programs will be heard on most of these same stations. In the May time, the sun grins down and pats Broadway's cheek. Broadway loves it. The sun lit minutes are added for a cigarette. The walk is slower. The sway gentler. The windows are opened wide and the door is too. And glints of sunlight are carried through long hallways on the side of a summer's wind, touching the lips of the girl at the typewriter, touching the hand of the man at the water cooler watching her, touching the steel of the file cabinets, warming them. And having made the tour, back onto Broadway and starred all over again. But where I was, there was no warmth. Only a woman drawing a shawl tight around her shoulders and talking quietly to her dead. Harry. Harry, listen to me. You were right. We should have told them. We should have told them all about it. And you wouldn't be like this, and I would. Mrs. Foster, what should you have told us? What? What did you say? What should you and your husband have told us? About the money, nothing else. The money you found on the park bench? Yes. You see, we should have told them, Harry. But he did, Mrs. Foster. He reported it. Turned it in. You don't understand. I knew no one would understand. Then maybe you could help me. Friday was always Harry's day off. From the factory out there, you can see it from here, see. On his day off, I'd pack him a little lunch and he'd kiss me goodbye, walk up town to Central Park. He... Go on. He always went alone. He always sat on the same bench. Harry used to describe it to me. What he saw, people he talked to. Felt as if I'd been there with him. And one day he found money in a newspaper. And turned it in, like you said. The next week turned it in. But after that, told him he didn't have to do that anymore. You mean he found more money? Is that what you're trying to tell me? What? You mean he found more money? For five weeks in a row. I told Harry he didn't have to turn it in anymore. I told him to go back to be sure and keep going back. Every week. Yesterday, too. And we'd be rich. No more of this. No more factory. Why didn't you call us when he came home hurt? Call a doctor. It would have spoiled it, ended it. The money, don't you see? I thought he'd live and we... That money? No. You couldn't. You couldn't see. Then she turned for me and walked over to the window, stared out of it. Across her shoulder into the noon sunshine I could see the factory emptying its lunchtime employees. The crowd breaking off its fragments to the curb of the lunch pails to the push carts for the ham on white and coffee. Then the other sound, the feet in the doorway, the entrance of the professionals, coroner, photographer, reporter. The man had been murdered. I left. Then back again to Central Park in the park bench of the stabbing. Sit on it. A man named Harry Foster used to find money here and he was killed. And a woman who had seen it happen, a woman who sat at a window every day. I looked up to the window. She wasn't there. I wondered why. I knew why. She was in the wheelchair. There was a man pushing it carefully down the steps. Scooch a little to the side, friend. Need a hand? Yeah, if you want. Thanks. How are you feeling, Mrs. Mason? She ain't gonna answer you. I didn't know she left the house. Why should you even bother? Oh, I'm Danny Clover, police. Oh, hi. I'm Ben Taylor. I got a U-drive down the street. Only Mrs. Mason here, different. Kind of a take-drive. I see. Just today? Oh, no, all the time. From one to three, the elements willing. I take her for a ride. Sometimes here, sometimes there. Ride? Oh, sure, sure. Right away, Mrs. Mason. See you, Danny. Oh, wait a minute. How long have you been doing this, Ben? Ride? Well, since her accident. Since at Coney last year. She had her back here and up here ahead. Ride, car ride. I guess I better take her. I heard her cry like that before. I can't stand it. Sure. It's a nice day, Mrs. Mason. I hope you enjoy your ride. Oh, she will. She likes riding in the car. See you around, Danny. I watched Ben lift her gently out of the wheelchair. Lift her into the back of the car. Close the door. Fold the chair. Place it in the car trunk. Then back and saying something to her. She looked up for an instant. Her eyes found me. Then she smiled and shaped a lost word with her lips. They were gone. And back at headquarters, the wall clock ticking off the hours of Harry Foster's death. Ticking off the hours that his murderer came to a park bench. Looked at it, smiled, walked away in the warm sun. Ticked off the question of why money had been left there for Harry Foster to find week after week on Friday's Twilight. And at four o'clock, the door opening slightly. And all you saw of the man was his cocked head. You, Mr. Danny Clover? That's right. You want something? Only to know of you, Mr. Danny Clover, and to give you what I have in my pocket. They said I should give it to you. You being the interested party and all. What have you got in your pocket? This. An envelope. Stamped and everything. I found it. Give it to me. It's addressed to George Mason. Anybody can see that. That's the husband of that woman. The cripple. The one they call a looker in the papers. The one they think saw that stabbing. I did right bringing it to you. It's been opened. You opened it? Don't lie to me. You opened it and then resealed it. All right. I opened it. I'm a normal kind of fellow with all the normal curiosities. First I was going to mail it when I found it. But then I saw who was addressed though. I couldn't restrain myself. I like the proverbial cat, Mr. Clover. It could make trouble for you being like that. Not when you see what's in it. Not when you see what it says. It says you've made a terrible mistake. That's all. Not another word. See? You can't do anything to me for just reading that. You just read it yourself. That's why I brought it to you. Because I'm a cooperative citizen. Where'd you find it? At Grant's Tomb. And I've been curious about that tomb for years now. Finally I took time off to go to study it. Then I found a letter on the steps. And I never did get to really study Grant's tomb. Tough. You'll stick around, huh? Some of our boys want to have a long chat with you. They enjoy curious fellas. Sure, anything you say. I'm nothing if I'm not cooperative. Just nothing. I wouldn't say that. But you stick around, huh? Hi, Ben. Well, hello, Danny. Hey, how do you like this, huh? I rigged up so when it's a sunny day the telephone is on the outside of my shack. Inspiration, huh? Fine. Who wants to be on the inside when outside it's sunny? You car-renting Danny? I can give you rates. Just talk. If you don't do business together, we never become enemies, huh? What's on your mind? Mrs. Mason. Oh, yeah. Sad, huh? You know, if you set your mind to it and consider all she's been through, and then look at her, she's a pretty woman. I noticed. You said she was hurting an accident at Coney Island, Ben. What kind of an accident? On the Rolly Coaster. You know, one of them rides, fell off right near the end of the ride. She stood up, fell. Was she with anyone? Yeah, her husband. You want to know something? In spite of the heartbreak of having a wife like that, you know, Mr. Mason is one of the nicest guys I ever met. What about Mrs. Mason, Ben? What about it? Can anyone ever talk to her, have a conversation with her? I talk to her? About what? Things. You know, ain't it a pretty day, Mrs. Mason? Is there a draft on you, Mrs. Mason? I talk to her, but she just hums and sings. But you know, I think she's getting better. Maybe I'm contributing. Where'd you go driving today? Down Riverside Drive. You know, the river, Grant's Tomb, the churches. Thanks a lot, Ben. Anytime, Danny, anytime at all. Hello, Mr. Clover. Good evening, Mr. Mason. We're delighted to see you. Please come in. Diane, it's Mr. Clover. Diane looks better, doesn't she, Mr. Clover? Yes, yes, she does. I brought you something, Mr. Mason. Here. Huh? A letter? It's addressed to you. Breeder. I don't understand. Breeder. Yes, it is. It's addressed to me. But it's been opened. That's right. Breeder. All right. No. The note says you made a mistake, Mr. Mason. Mrs. Mason, your husband might be electrocuted for a murder he committed. Leave her alone. I wasn't going to touch her. Cut it out, Mrs. Mason. What's the matter with you? Have you gone out of your mind, Clover? I said cut it out, Mrs. Mason. I told you leave her alone. All right, you've come here to accuse me of murder, but leave her alone. George. Don't worry about anything here. Get me a drink of water. What? What did you say? A drink of water, George. Cold water from the refrigerator. Diane. Darling, a drink of water. Do it. You won't be able to wait on me anymore. Mr. Clover is going to take you away from me. You're talking like you know what you're saying. You do know what you're saying. What's happening? What's happening to us? It's already happened. It's all over. George. You paid off, didn't you, Mrs. Mason? Sitting at the window watching. Watching for a man your husband could kill. Simple little man. He came and sat on the same bench every Friday. He got paid for a while. It was you. You wrote that first letter to Anne. And this one made me pay blackmail to a man who didn't even know me, didn't know anything about me. It was so simple. Write a letter, put a stamp on it, drop it from the car. Someone picked up the first letter and mailed it. About five weeks ago. A letter with instructions in it. Why, yes. Leave money every Friday on the park bench. The man who picked it up, Mr. Mason, you thought was a blackmailer, so you killed him. She's crazy. She really is. She's crazy. No, I'm not. I'm just a cripple, George. I can't move from this chair. Honest. But I'm not crazy. She's crazy. What did that first letter say, Mr. Mason? The man saw me push my wife off a ride at Coney Island. He demanded blackmail, but I didn't push, Anne. Then why did you pay the money, darling? That you weren't going to let your husband alone, warrior, Mrs. Mason. Even after he did what you wanted him to do, murder a man. Another letter that won your husband's holding, telling him he killed the wrong man. It's not much to ask, is it? Wanting George to suffer? Look at me. You're an accessory, Mrs. Mason. What can you do to me? A cripple in a wheelchair? In a prison? Will that be different? Tell me how. I didn't push you, Diane. I didn't push you. You fell off that ride. You fell. Liar. Diane. You're a liar, George. Diane, when you listened to me, I made it up to you. I carried you. I waited on you. I went crazy that day. I hated you. I don't know why. I don't know... Oh, I know why. You're an evil woman. Evil. Poor George. You should have died. You should have. You should have. You should have died. It's night on Broadway now. As easy laughter, when a trumpet scurls its music into the grinning mob. It's top of the evening. Have another drink on me, kid, and let's set this dance up. It's a street gouged out of a scarlet dream. It's Broadway, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway, My Beat. Broadway's My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover with Charles Calvert as Tartaglia and Jack Krushen as Muggevin. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with musical score and produced and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Lamont Johnson was heard as George Mason, Kathy Lewis as Diane Mason, and Virginia Gregg as Mrs. Foster. Others in the cast were Herb Vagran, Lou Krugman, and Johnny McGovern. Every Saturday night, Jan Murray takes a tip from Danny Clover and goes looking for people. Only Jan's beat is the United States. By coast to coast phone, he offers a grand in cold, hard cash if you can identify the phantom voice. So stay tuned now as Jan Murray and sing it again follow immediately on most of these same CDS stations. Joe Walter speaking, this is CDS where you laugh at Jack Benny every Sunday night at Columbia Broadcasting System.