 You're a detective sergeant. You're assigned a homicide detail. A man is shot down on the street of a residential neighborhood. He's critically wounded. You don't know who the assailant is, you don't know where he is. Your job? Getting. Compare Fatima with any other king-size cigarette. Prove Fatima quality yourself. You'll find Fatima's length filters the smoke 85 millimeters for your protection. Fatima's length cools the smoke for your protection. You'll find Fatima's length gives you those extra pups, 21 percent longer than standard cigarette size. And in Fatima, you get an extra mild and soothing smoke. Plus the added protection of Fatima quality. Definitely the best quality in its class, but the same price as the cigarette you're now smoking. Buy Fatima in the bright sunny yellow pack. Best of all, king-size cigarettes. The documented drama of an actual crime. For the next 30 minutes in cooperation with the Los Angeles Police Department, you will travel step-by-step on the side of the law through an actual case transcribed from official police files. From beginning to end, from crime to punishment, Dragnet is the story of your police force in action. It was Thursday, January 20th. It was mild in Los Angeles. We were working the night watch out of homicide detail. My partner's Ed Jacobs. The boss is Thad Brown, Chief of Detectives. My name's Friday. I was on the way back from dinner, and it was 9.57 p.m. when I got back to the city hall, room 42, homicide detail. Hi. Make it in time? No, they were closed up. That's too bad. Where'd you eat? Well, that cafeteria down the street was terrible. Nothing at all, huh? Well, I figured I'd be safe with a corned beef hash. Even that wasn't much. Soggy, you know. Probably standing all day. That's too bad. I asked Johnny if he'd stay open a couple of minutes late, told him you were coming right over. The place was closed tight when I got there. I couldn't raise anybody. Tough luck. Short ribs are really good tonight. Some great pie, too, boys and bearing. Best I had, anyway. Say, you got any of those bicarb pills in your locker? I could sure use one. I'm afraid not. You had the last one, the Gene Bechtel, tonight. You had it at the cafeteria, too. Hi, Ed. How are you? What do you say? Any phone calls for me, Ed? Muriel down the stairs, the office called. I'd run you asked for it. They got it ready. It was the only call, huh? Yeah. What is it, Al? Something wrong? No, why? You've been moping around like you lost your best friend. What's the matter? You mad at the world? No, I just might get lost. My wife had her father and mother over for lunch today. The old man's getting to be a real pain in the neck. Don't get along with him, huh? I keep trying, dude. Doesn't seem to do much good. All he can think of is money. It's all he can talk about. Why let it bother you? My and Lowe's been talking about it for years. Forget it. You won't let you. The minute he puts his foot inside the front door, it's the first thing you hear. Crusty old guy. That pipey smoke's enough to knock you over. Why don't you duck out when they come over? Tell them you got a call. You have to go to work. Well, the wife's son to that one. She makes me hang around. Keeps telling me her father and mother like me. You never know what the old guy's a real tyrant. See, the wife comes from a big family. Every time I see her old man, he has to make a point of telling me how smart his other son's in law. How much dough they're making. Yeah, same routine every time. One of his daughters married a carpenter. He's making $20 a day. One of them married a hot carrier. He's making $25 a day. Always ends up asking me how much I'm making. Why don't you tell the son of his business? I did today. That's what started the argument. I walked out. Crusty old guy. Well, I get it. Homicide fighting. Yes. Where? Yes, sir. I have it. Fine. Thank you. Yes, sir. Right away. Shooting Kirkman near Alpine. Let me grab my coat. No details? Man down on the sidewalk apparently hurt bad. Neighbor said it was a family fight. Come on, we better hustle it out. Let's go. That's one good thing about this job. What do you mean? Trouble. You don't know what it is to hear about other people's. Sergeant Al Shambra, Ed and I drove out to the scene of the shooting. Code 3, red light and siren. We located the victim lying on the sidewalk approximately 50 feet from the intersection of Kirkman Avenue and Alpine Street. He was a dark-haired man, looked to be in his early 40s, tan complexion well built. He'd been shot several times in the chest, once in the shoulder. He appeared to be unconscious. A handful of curious neighbors were standing by. One of them, a short balding man, identified himself as Ernest Whitley. He said he was the victim's next-door neighbor. What's man's name, Mr. Whitley? Wally Radford lives right next door to me. Been my neighbor for years. Where do you live? This apartment court right here. I live in the cottage next to the end when they're number eight. Wally lives in number nine. One right on the end there facing us? Yeah. What do you know about the shooting, Mr. Whitley? Well, I didn't have anything to do with it. I was watching television with a wife. I heard the shots outside. You can ask the wife. She'll tell you. You heard the shots outside of Radford's cottage? Is that right? Yeah, that's right. Where's the ambulance? Why don't they come? They've been notified. They're on the way. Well, who did the shooting? Whitley, would you know that? Well, not for sure. We were watching television, like I said, when I heard the shots. Wife and I. First, I heard the shots and then I heard somebody yell. I thought it was some high school kids in a hot rod or something. You know, horsing around outside. Wife told me to get up and take a look anyway, so I did. Uh-huh. On the way to the door, I heard another shot. Then somebody yelled out again like they were hurt. Must have been six or seven shots anyway. Just as I opened the door, I saw Wally go running fast. I didn't know what was coming off. He ran right out toward the street here. Weaving back and forth looked like he had a couple of drinks. I didn't know what it was. You didn't see the actual shooting? You didn't see anyone with a gun? Well, no. The only one I saw was Wally. He ran right by me holding his hands up to his chest. I yelled to him, but he didn't stop. I didn't know if he was drunk or what. When he got out here to the sidewalk, I saw him fall down. I went after him. It was terrible. Say, uh, either one of you got a smoke? Yeah, sure. Look, I'm still shaking like a leaf. There you go. Swallow. Thank you. Want a light? Yeah, please. You're welcome. Was Radford still conscious when you reached him, you know? Just about, yeah. I don't know how many times he was shot. He was rolling around on the ground, painless, terrible. The whole front of his shirt was all stained. I yelled to Mike Desmond, one of the other neighbors. He called you fellas. Would Radford say anything to you? How'd it happen? We kept moaning about the pain. That made me sick. This relief when he passed out. Did he tell you how it happened? Yeah, his wife. I figured that was it when I saw what was wrong with him. He told you his wife shot him? Well, he had a big fight today while he and his wife started this afternoon and been going on all day, all night yelling at each other, throwing things around. I never expected this, though. Something must have snapped. She must be out of her mind. Where's his wife now? I don't know. Still back in their cottage, I guess. I've been here since the shooting. I didn't see her leave. Joe? Yeah. Now, what do you got? I was talking to one of the neighbor women back in the court here. She said a Mrs. Radford phoned her about five minutes ago. Identified herself as the victim's wife, cottage number nine. What did Miss Radford want with the neighbor? She said she was giving fair warning. She wanted her to pass the word along. What do you mean? I think she's going to kill anybody that comes after her. 10, 28 p.m. The ambulance arrived and the attendants administered first aid to the victim of the shooting, Wallace Radford. Before he was rushed to Georgia Street receiving hospital for further treatment, Radford regained consciousness long enough to confirm the fact that it was his wife who shot him. That was about all he could tell us before the sedatives took effect. The two officers and two of the radio cars which were standing by were detailed to keep the crowd away from the apartment court where the shooting took place. In particular, cottage nine, where the Radford's lived. The blinds were drawn in the house. There were no lights showing. We called the Radford cottage on the phone, but there was no answer. Al, Shambra, and Ed circled around and back for a closer look at the place. I continued interviewing the Radford's next door neighbor, Ernest Whitley. I guess I should have known her to come to this someday, the way they've been fighting lately. A Wally and his wife. They've been there nothing but wrangling day in, day out. Are you any idea where Mrs. Radford got the gun? She must have used Wally's, I guess. Don't know where else she'd get her hands on one. He keeps a gun in the house, does he? Yeah, as long as they've known him, he has. 38 automatic. I don't know the make, though. Do you happen to know if Mrs. Radford was used to handling that gun? No, a typical woman, no. Remember, Wally and Stella were over for cards one night. Stella, that's Mrs. Radford. I don't know how it came up, but Wally and Stella started arguing about him keeping a gun in the house. Stella didn't like it a bit, since she was afraid of guns. Didn't even like to have them around. I'm surprised she even knew how to pull a trigger. You said the Radford's had a big fight today. What was it about, do you happen to know? A single thing, I guess. Stella was always accused of Wally running around with other women, running around town drinking. As far as I know, it wasn't true. Matter of fact, it was just the opposite. If anybody was on the town with Stella, I happen to know at least one guy she was making eyes at. Hi, what's it look like? Not good. House is pitch dark. Can't hear anyone moving around inside. Won't be easy to get out of there, Joe, the way the cottage is situated. Why, what's the problem? The rear of the house backs up against that hill there. It's a small space between the end of the house and the hill. No back door, just windows. One of them's open a few inches. I mean, the front door's the only way in the place, huh? No, there's a side door on the left, the house on the left-hand side. Yeah, it's a kitchen door, sir. It leads right into the kitchen, just like our place. All the cottages are laid out the same. The living room's just inside the front door, then. The bedroom's in the right rear, kitchen and left rear. A small bathroom leading off the bedroom leads to the left. She won't come out peaceably. How about a tear gas shell? That ought to bring her out. Well, I don't know if we'll need it, Al. Might be a waste of time. Whitley here was just telling me Mrs. Radford isn't familiar with guns. You think she'd know how to reload the automatic quickly? No, sir. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't. I don't even know if Wally had another clip of shells around the house. Even if he did, Stella wouldn't know what to do with it. Well, how about the clip that's already in the gun? Good chance you've got a couple of shells left. She fired more than half a dozen of them. I know that. She must have gone crazy. There were at least seven or eight shots. Just about empty. How about it? Do you want to try rushing the place? Let's go. All right, you better stay out here for the time being, Mr. Whitley. Might be some shooting. You know what you're taking. Any chances? Yes, sir. Sure. Okay, sir. I'll be right back here if you want me. Thank you very much. All right, let's try it. How do you want to handle it? Why don't you and Al take the side door? I'll go in the front. You want to see if we can get a rise out of her first? Yeah. Maybe she'll give it up without a fight. I'll call out to her a couple of times first. If there's no answer, we'll rush the place. Okay. Now, let's make it all together. I'll just wait for a signal. I'll call it out. All right. That's it. I'll do it just behind the shrub over there. Give us a little time to get around to her. Yeah. Now, when I call out the rush, make it fast. It's the only thing we've got in our favor. We'll try and surprise you. All right. See you later. Be careful. Mrs. Radford. Mrs. Radford, can you hear me? Police officers. You've got your place around it. I want you to come out. Can you hear me, Mrs. Radford? We want you to come out. Mrs. Radford. All right. Let's go. Hit the door. Joe, you all right? Yeah. What about you? In the kitchen. It's empty. Okay. Just a minute. Living room's empty. Not in here. Add in the bedroom. Nothing here. Yeah. How about that? Hey, Joe, back here. Where are you? Bedroom. Straight back. All right. Have a look. Would you check the bathroom and all the closets? Everything. She's gone. 10.46 p.m. We double-checked the cottage. All the buildings and possible hiding places adjoining the Radford house, and then we combed through the immediate neighborhood around the apartment court. There was no trace of the suspect, Stella Radford. In the apartment, we found a picture which neighbors told us was a good likeness of Mrs. Radford. Al Shamber got to a phone, called the office, and a local broadcast, and an APB was gotten out on her. We figured she probably slipped out of the house without being noticed during the general excitement immediately after the shooting. Her phone called to one of the neighbors, warning that she'd kill anyone who came after her, only served as a stall to give her more time for a getaway. 10.55 p.m. Ray Pinker and the crime lab crew arrived and began their preliminary investigation. Judging from the blood stains found on the furniture in the rug in the living room, and on the front steps of the cottage, Radford had first been shot while he was in the living room, and then apparently he ran out the front door to escape the gunfire. A trail of seven empty shells ejected from a .38 caliber automatic seem to indicate that his wife followed him out the front door, still firing at him as he tried to get away. We checked the apartment court garage, but the Radford's car was still there. We remained at the apartment court interviewing the neighbors and trying to get a line on some of Mrs. Radford's known friends and associates. Joe, how'd you make out? Not much, Al. The neighbor I talked to hardly even knew the Radfords. How about you? Not much better. The only apartment up the way named is Joanne Taylor. She told me she knew Radford's wife fairly well. Her sister in town doesn't have any idea where she lives though. How about the boyfriends Mrs. Radford's supposed to be running around with? Do you know anything about that? She thinks she was doing a little running around. She doesn't know who the men are, though. You got anything about Radford's condition? Yeah, I checked with George a few minutes ago. It's pretty critical. I don't know if he's going to make it or not. Joe, Al, back here, hustler. Come on. What do you got? Radford's neighbor's next door, Whitley's. Just got a call from Mrs. Radford. She's talking to Mr. Whitley on the phone right now. Let's go. I don't know what this is on the phone. Oh, yeah, Sergeant. I was just going to run and get you. Mrs. Radford on the phone? I did, yeah. She hung up just before you came in. She wouldn't talk, though. She told you where she is? No, she sure sounded funny. I think something snapped. She's a little crazy. What'd she say? What'd she call you? Said she wanted to find out if her no-good husband was dead yet. That's all I could make out. The rest was just a lot of gibberish. She wouldn't give you any idea where she was? Where she was falling from? No, I asked you, but she just laughed at me. Might still have a chance to find out, though. Yeah, huh, then? She's going to call me back. While Ed and I waited with Mr. Whitley in his apartment, Al Shamber got to another phone in one of the adjoining apartments called our business office and gave them the number of the Whitley's telephone. He asked them to make arrangements as soon as possible to have all incoming calls at the Whitley's traced to their origin. Meantime, Ed and I were briefing Ernest Whitley as to what he should say if and when the suspect, Stella Radford, called him back. There was no phone extension in his apartment, so the only way we'd be able to monitor the conversation would be for Whitley to share the receiver with one of us. We waited. 11.30 p.m., 11.45, midnight, 12.15 a.m. Sign? All right, try and keep the receiver tilted so we can listen. Sure, hope I got it straight. Okay. Hello? Ernest? Yeah, yeah, I called the hospital. Wally's a lot better. It's not as bad as they thought it was. What do you mean it's not bad? You're trying to kid me? No, it's a truth, Stella. It's not half bad at all. Wally's going to be all right. Couldn't be all right. Look, I didn't say he was all right. I say he was going to be all right. Look, it's nothing serious. It's not half as bad as they thought. You know you're lying, Ernest. Come on, snap out of it. Will you, Stella? It's going to be all right. Wally forgives you. Believe me, he does. Now, look, why don't you come home? We'll get the whole thing straightened out. There won't be any trouble. Why don't you sit you in the last of Wally? Stella. I'm with my boyfriend now. We're getting out of town. Now, wait a minute, Stella. Use your head, huh? Don't go rushing in anything. You don't have to try to follow it. Oh, Stella. Stella, will you listen a minute? Look, you keep talking. Will you listen for just a minute? Where are you now? Let me come down and talk to you. Wait a minute, Stella. He gave me a message for you, honey. He left something with me. He wants you to have it. What? His wallet. He gave it to me just before he left for the hospital. It's got $94 in it. It says he doesn't care what you think of him. He wants you to have the money. $94? Yeah. He didn't have that much money with him. Where did he get it? Well, I don't know anything about that, but it's right here in his wallet, just the way he gave it to me. He wants you to have it. That's all I know. I don't want it. Well, what do you want me to do? Take it back to him? Tell him you didn't want it? Give the guy a break, huh, Stella? It's the only way he's got to show you how he feels about you. Stella? Isn't that right? Well, how about it, Stella? I told you, yeah. Pick it up any time you want. No, Fred. Yeah. Stella? Hello? Stella? No, huh? Uh-huh. I'm in a bar right on the corner. You can't miss it. Where? What corner? As soon as the suspect, Stella Radford, hung up, we went to the apartment cottage next door where Al Shamber was on the phone in constant communication with our business office. He told us that somehow there'd been a slip-up. They were unable to trace the call to its point of origin. 12.36 a.m. According to plan, Ernest Whitley left his apartment, called a taxi, and headed downtown to keep his appointment with the suspect, Stella Radford. Ed Jacobs and Lieutenant Tony Ruiz from homicide followed him. Al Shamber and I stood by at the apartment. More waiting. 1 a.m. 1.30. 2 a.m. I think they'd call us anyway. I wonder what the hitch is. It's kind of hard to figure out. Some steer, they ran into some kind of trouble, maybe. Mrs. Radford, she really warmed up to the idea when the money was mentioned. Well, apparently, yeah. I was listening in when Whitley gave her the story. She seemed to go for it. It's kind of hard to tell. The way this whole thing shapes up, she can... Might be them now. Give her a look. Joe? Oh, yeah. What happened? How'd it go? We covered the portal closing. Crews and everything gave her plenty of time. Yeah. No luck. She didn't show. You are listening to Dragnet. 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In Fatima, the difference is quality. Best of all, King Size cigarettes. Friday, January 21st, 228 a.m. With the failure of the suspect, Stella Radford to keep the date with her next door neighbor, Ernest Whidley, at the Avalon Boulevard Bar, we reached a temporary stalemate. Despite the fact that checks were made at all restaurants, bars, and other business places in the vicinity of Ninth and Avalon opened that time of night, there was no report or trace of the suspect. While the search continued, we stood by at the Whidley apartment in the hope that Mrs. Radford might call back. A check of our records and identification bureau failed to turn up any record on either the victim or the suspect, his wife. Ed called Georgia Street receiving hospital again, but there was no change. Wallace Radford's condition was still critical. At 2.35 a.m., Stella Radford telephoned again. While we listened in, she told Whidley that she'd had no intention of keeping that appointment with him at the Avalon Boulevard Bar. She told him that she knew he was working with the police, that she saw officers follow Whidley to the bar where they were supposed to have met. She again warned him of the consequences in the event anybody tried to apprehend her. After she hung up, we checked with the business office and they told us that the calls had been coming from a telephone prefix which was impossible to trace. Ten minutes later, Whidley got another call from the Radford woman. The conversation went on for the better part of 20 minutes. She didn't seem to make much rhyme or reason. Her only concern was the condition of her husband, whether or not he was dead. She hung up abruptly, but 15 minutes later, she called Whidley again. Look, Stella, I told you there isn't going to be any trouble. Now, why don't you go and see Wally? He's lying down there in the hospital. He wants to see you. How about it, huh, Stella? Is he dead? I want to find out before I... Why don't you at least give me a chance to talk to you, Stella, huh? We've been good friends. You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. You wore Wally. Now, let me talk to you, huh? There's nothing to find out about Wally. I told you he's hurt, but he's going to be all right. It's not serious. Stella? Why don't you stop lying to me? Look, I'm not lying, Stella. I wouldn't lie about something like that. What's the matter with you anyway? You've been drinking? What's it to you? They're trying to help the cops. Don't you think I know that? What kind of a fool you think I am? I'm trying to help, Stella. That's all. Sure, you're trying to help. Not me, though. But we made that date to meet at the bar. You told them all about it. No. You left the house and they left right after you. I know about it. No, you got it wrong, honey. I'm trying to help both of you. You and Wally. I'm trying to help the best way I know how. Now, why don't you come home? I told you, we'll straighten the whole thing out. There won't be any trouble. Don't hit me. Yeah, that's right. He does. Now, how can I get it to you if you don't trust me? But you're wrong about the cops, Stella. Believe me, you are. Now, why won't you let me meet you someplace? Any place you want, just let me talk to you. Not Wally. Is he dead yet? But I told you, he's not dead. He's going to be all right. But why can't you believe me? It's not what they thought. Wally will be okay. Yeah, yeah. In the next room. But what for, Stella? Why? Now, come on, snap out of it, huh? No, it's the truth. Say, help me. Yeah, what's the matter? Well, it just happened to strike me. You hear that streetcar that just went by a minute ago? Yeah, I did. Why? Did you notice a little before that when we were listening on the phone? It sounded like the same thing coming over the line, didn't it? Yeah, come think of it, it did. Matter of fact, I heard it a couple times coming over the phone. It was pretty regular. Now, that's what I mean. Streetcars have been passing by here regularly, too. Not much of a time lapse either. Not much more in a minute. Well, I mean, between the time when we hear it over the phone and the time the streetcar actually passes this place. Yeah. Well, if we've got the right angle, there's only one way to figure it here. She's phoning from somewhere in the neighborhood and she's fairly close, wouldn't you say? Where do we start looking? Well, car tracks only run two ways. 3.30 a.m. Ed and I went back into the next room and continued to monitor the conversation between Whitley and Mrs. Radford. Whitley seemed to know how to keep the suspect talking even though the purpose of her conversation seemed to make little or no sense. At 3.42 a.m. while we listened in, on the other end of the line, we again heard the sound of a streetcar approaching pass. Ed checked his watch. Approximately one minute, 38 seconds later, we heard a streetcar pass by in front of the apartment court. Before Ed and I left, we jotted down a note for Whitley asking him to keep Mrs. Radford on the line just as long as possible. We got in the car and drove north along the car tracks at about the normal speed of a streetcar. One minute and 38 seconds of driving brought us a distance of little more than eight blocks. It was on the fringe of a park area. There were only three residential buildings in the immediate vicinity. There were no lights showing in any of them. We checked the location for public telephones, but we found none. 4.15 a.m. we turned around, drove back to the apartment court and using the same timing procedure, one minute, 38 seconds to 25 miles an hour, we drove along the car line in a southerly direction. There was not much of a choice. Bars are closed, most of the restaurants, no lights burning on this block. A few up ahead there in the next block, Ed. Yeah. Gotta come pretty soon, doesn't it? Yeah, it's a minute right now. I can't see how we'd be wrong on it, can you? Too much to write off is just a coincidence. A minute 15 seconds. A minute 20. Better slow down. Yeah. What do you think? It's a service station across street. You see any? No. None on this side. Let's see how I'll pull up in there, huh? Yeah. There's a phone booth in the back there. There's no lights, though. Looks like somebody in it. Looks like a woman. Yeah, it is. Come on. All right, hold it up, lady. She's running for it, Joe. All right, come on. Come on, hold it up, lady. Police officers. Let go. Let go of me. What do you think you're doing? Police officers, lady. Here's our identification. Mike, talk to you. You leave me alone. Just leave me alone. That's all I don't have to talk to you. Your name's Stella Radford, isn't it? Your identification? Who sent you here? Who was it? Are you Stella Radford? You couldn't have found out how'd you know I was here. It was Ernie, wasn't it? Him and his friends. He told you. No, ma'am. I don't see how you found me. Somebody had to tell you. You never could have found me. I don't see how I made any mistakes. Yeah, that's right. Let's go, lady. The names were changed to protect the innocent. On April 16th, trial was held in Superior Court, Department 88, City and County of Los Angeles, State of California. In a moment, the results of that trial. And now, here is our star, Jack Webb. Thank you, George Phenomenon. Friends, as you know, Fatima cigarettes makes it possible for us to bring you this dragnet series. In each week of course, we set aside a couple of minutes to tell you about Fatimas. We've already told you why we believe Fatima is the best of all king-sized cigarettes. The rest is up to you. I suggest you buy a pack of Fatimas and compare them yourself. Fatimas give you an extra mild and soothing smoke plus the added protection of Fatima quality, something no other cigarette has. Look for that bright, sunny yellow pack tomorrow and try Fatima. The victim of the shooting, Wallace John Radford, recovered from his wounds and refused to press charges against his wife. However, she was tried in Superior Court and found guilty of Section 245-PC Assault with a Deadly Weapon. She was sentenced to the term prescribed by law. Assault with a Deadly Weapon is punishable by imprisonment in the State Penitentiary for a term not less than one, nor more than 10 years. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Joseph M. Kinnick, President of the California State Juvenile Officers Association. Thank you. The California State Juvenile Officers Association has asked me to present this award of merit to Jack Webb and to Dragnet for outstanding service to law enforcement in the authentic and sympathetic portrayal of the police officer in the field of frequency control. Thank you very much, Mr. Kinnick. And I'll be looking forward to meeting you again and the members of your association at your annual conference banquet tomorrow night here in Los Angeles. You have just heard Dragnet, a series of authentic cases from official files. Technical advice comes from the Office of Chief of Police W.H. Parker, Los Angeles Police Department. Technical Advisors Captain Jack Donahoe, Sergeant Marty Wynn, Sergeant Vance Brasher. Heard tonight were Barney Phillips, Dr. Bellis, Jack Krushan, Helen Cleave. Script by Jim Moser. Music by Walter Schumann. Hell, give me speaking. Fatima Cigarettes. Best of all, King-sized cigarettes has brought you Dragnet, transcribed from Los Angeles. Ladies and gentlemen, nature plus the threat of man-made catastrophes make continuing help in constant preparedness necessary. The Red Cross binds these needs. Answer the Red Cross call for generous contribution. Next, it's Mr. Keane, Tracer of Lost Persons on NBC.