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. There's a time on Broadway when the fury dies, the revelers give up and the street is an empty corner of a faraway world. It's four o'clock in the morning, the time of yesterday's newspaper drifting with the night wind, the time of the tired shadow and furtive sounds dimly heard. And you walk it because you're a policeman and your day's just over. You turn a corner because it's the way home. And some of the shadows melt into a man and you're glad because it's a man you know. How are you, Danny? John, how are you? Fine, you? Good. You got your transfer, huh? Yeah, and I like it. I guess I'll always be pounding a beat and shaking doors. But I like doing it better here. What's new, Danny? I don't know, John, the same, I guess. Hey. From down the street, probably just... Help me! Help me! Help me! Come on. There's something right over there. Someone's in a hurry to leave. That car, no light. Here's what they left. This man's been badly beaten up. Call box down the street. I'll get an ambulance. Wait. No need. Dead? Yeah. Go over him, John, see who he is. Okay. Did you notice that truck in the alley, Danny? Yeah, I'll take a look. Find anything? No wallet. Looks like he was beaten for it. You? The truck's a bakery truck, the Felder Bakery. It's not far from here, on First Avenue near 39th. It's on the beat. Yeah, and this man in white shirt and white pants could be a delivery uniform. Sure, they're open 24 hours a day. Call it in, John, then stick with it. I'll get over to the bakery. Maybe those people can tell me something. Yeah, they told me a man wanted to see me. You the man? Yes. Mr. Felder? Uh-huh, Louis Felder. Look, friend, I'm sorry I can't help you. I got all the men I need to handle what I got. I suggest you try the Baker's Union. They try the Union. I'm from the police, Mr. Felder. Oh, oh, I'm sorry. No disrespect intended. Just that so many men come and ask me for work. If there's been a complaint, our product, one of my employees... Truck 12, who drives it? 12? You mean tonight? Tonight. Yeah, I'll find out. Hey! Who was on 12 tonight? What do you want? Who drove 12 tonight? Well, just a minute. Morris had it tonight. Oh, of course, Morris. Morris Bernstein, a good man. Certainly Morris has... He's dead. He was killed. Morris? In an accident? His truck was torn apart. He was beaten to death. Oh, I've been afraid, afraid. Of what, Mr. Felder? Something like this would happen. One night they would beat a man until he died. Who? Hoedlum's rat pack. We don't know. It happened to another one of my boys last week. They turned over his truck, threw the bread into the gutter, attacked him. I'd like to talk to him. Naturally. Sid! Sid Norman! Still here? Yeah, yes, okay, okay. Want me, Mr. Felder? Yeah. A little bit late. I should be out in the route. I dismanaged from the police, Sid. Morris was killed tonight. Beaten up? Why did you say that, Sid? Well, because it followed. It happened to me last week, but I was lucky. I ran away from him. Morris Bernstein was killed. He was beaten to death. Why did you say that, Sid? Well, because it followed. It happened to me last week, but I was lucky. I ran away from him. Morris probably stopped to reason with him. He was that kind of a man. Could you recognize any of them, Sid? No, they jumped me when my back was turned. I was gathering up loaves of bread, sweet rolls, things like that, and something hit me in the back of the head. I didn't stop to say hello. I just ran. How many were there, could you tell me that? Well, four or five, maybe. Punks, just kids. I could tell by their voices. Gee, the kids nowadays. They gather in rat packs and kill. Mr. Felder, any reason this should happen to your trucks, your men? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Maybe it's because my men are out alone at four o'clock in the morning. I don't remember ever doing anything wrong. Excuse me, please. Stop the machines! Stop the ovens! Don't work anymore today. Go home. The damned men didn't look happy. They looked worried. It was as if suddenly the scene were taking place. They were in a hurry. They were in a hurry. They were in a hurry. They were in a hurry. They were in a hurry. They were in a hurry. They were in a hurry. They were in a hurry. exaggerating ticket boot oscar swat and no following squall tox confirmed bad oxygen And itでしょうed shaking It was 4-thirty. I went home. At ten o'clock, I was back at headquarters. There was a man waiting for me in my office, just as I knew he would be, Fates, cold�� had fashioned it that way. They'd grinned and put their heads together and conspired that Sergeant Ataglia should always be waiting in my office when I closed the door behind me. Here we are, Danny. We are indeed. I understand you had a pretty rough night of it. You're going to brighten up what otherwise might be a drab day, is that it? My utter best, Danny. Thanks. What have you got? This baseball cap found some 50 feet from the scene of the beating up in the gutter. It might or might not have something to do with what happened. The last is my own comment upon matters. Let's see it. Yeah, Danny, here. If you will notice, on the inside there's a sweatband, and on the sweatband is printed an ink, a name, an address. My middle boy, Rufio Ataglia, did the same to his three propini. Gabe Kirby, it says. 1412 West 18th. That's pretty far from where Morris Bernstein was killed, Danny. So, like I said, this cap might or might not have something to do. Let me find out how to taglia. The address printed neatly in the baseball cap was a cold water tenement, a scar, an open wound fashioned of peeling brownstone, of litter, of something that's scurried under your feet, then darted into a hole. It watched you with bloodshot eyes as you walked up the stairs. Then at the landing, you heard it come out again. You knocked at a door, and a woman, haggard, resigned, and told you her son, Gabe, was at school, the 16th Street Vocational School. And at the school, a man, sighed, shrugged, walked away from you, came back with Gabe Kirby, and said you could use his office. He was used to it. And he left you alone with Gabe. The principal pulled me away from something very interesting, the secret life of a drainpipe, plumbing two-way. Why did he do that? Sit down, Gabe. Oh, the courteous approach. I've been making a catalog how you guys approach us guys. Yours is a courtesy type. Glad to add it to my collection. You've been in trouble before, Gabe. Lots of times, huh? I wouldn't say lots. I'm only 18 years old. My shadow. Yeah, I had my share. This baseball cap belonged to you? Hey, you're a blue ribbon retriever. I've been missing that cap for a month now. How about that? I never dreamed I'd see that cap again. Gabe. I'm sorry, pal. I can't offer you a reward, but I'll even it up for you someday when conditions are better. Gabe. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for bringing back me cap. It's a good luck charm. My baton average. Sit down, Gabe. I said sit down. Okay, okay. The approach changes, huh, Mr. Policeman? Where were you last night, Gabe? Somebody broke into a grocery store last night? Where were you? I slept on an iron cot all night. Not at home, Gabe. Your mother told me you went home last night. Only the old lady told you that. Thank her for me. Where were you? In a room over a garage. We call it a club room. I belong to a club, the Titans. Last night I slept there. We take time sleeping there, we boys, to watch over a lot of things we wish we had. You were there all night? All night. From eight o'clock on. You can check with Richie. Richie? Who's he? You don't know Richie? Mr. Richard Peel? An important man. He's the Athletic Director of the Titans, volunteered for the job. He sets us boys a good example. The other Titans, where were they? Who knows? I was sleepy, so I went to sleep. Check with Mr. Peel. Gabe, your cap was found 50 feet from where a man was killed, beaten up and killed by a gang, a man named Morris Bernstein. Morris Bernstein? And my cap was there, huh? Well, how about that? Check with Mr. Peel, Mr. Policeman, over the Conway garage on 20th. And now I hear Plum and Two-A calling me. You'll excuse me? Hey. Hey, you. You looking for someone? Yeah, I am. Who are you looking for, mister? Richard Peel. You found him? You from the Employment Agency? No. Oh, I thought you were from the Agency. Police. I thought you were from the Agency. There's no phone here. They said they'd send a man over if anything turned up for me. What do you do here, Mr. Peel? What do you mean? This place over a garage, empty. Not empty, mister... Clover. Not empty, Mr. Clover. Look around. We've got some equipment. Barbells, wall exercises. Enough for now. This is where the Titans meet, huh? That's right. They'll get it fixed up. I still don't understand. What do you do here? I thought you'd know by now. The boys need a direction. I try to give them that. Get them off the street. Organized teams, you know. You would like doing that. A man has an obligation to kids. Haven't you ever told yourself that, Mr. Clover? Especially about kids who come up here without roots, broken homes, drunken fathers and working mothers, or worse. It's my obligation. Yeah. I suppose more people should feel the way you do. Somebody has to. What am I telling you for? You'd know. Ever read any statistics on juvenile delinquency? Uh-huh. Then you'd be the one to know. These kids need something. To let them know their heritage, rights, things like that. Give them direction. They don't find that on the street. There's a reason I came up here, Mr. Peel. I know. Not many adults come up here. They're just not interested. It's about Gabe Kirby. Something's bothering you. I can tell. Just what about Gabe? He said he was here last night, all night. I know why he said that. Because he was. Seems to me. I know just what you're going to say. And it seems to you a boy 18 years shouldn't stay out all night. All right, suppose Gabe went home. What'd it be there for him? The drunken father I told you about. You'd swear he was here all night. On that cot over there. And I slept on the other one. I assure you, Mr. Clover, if some young man got into trouble last night, it wasn't Gabe Kirby. You have my 100% word on that. Mr. Peel found my hand, shook it, looked me straight in the eye 100% and invited me to address a meeting of the Titans. The boys would appreciate friendly advice from a friendly policeman, he assured me. I mumbled something and got out. At headquarters, the routine of tracing down the murderers of Morris Bernstein gnawed at the day until there was nothing left but the nighttime. I gave it up and went home to sleep. That didn't work either. So I went back to headquarters. The files on rat packs, from a social point of view, from a criminal point of view, from a statistical point of view, educational. But no help in the murder of Morris Bernstein. So I thought I'd try to sleep again. At two in the morning, it should come. It didn't. On the street back to it, a friend stopped me, Officer Rucker. Hiya, Danny. Long day, huh? Yeah. How's it been for you? Quiet, Danny, not a peep. Nothin', nobody. I've been keeping a close eye on every person, every car. They don't look right, I question them. So far, nothin'. You'll keep on it, huh, John? You told me to do that. It won't change. Good night, John. Get some sleep, Danny. It'll do you good. Danny! Danny, watch out! Stop! Stop! Hurt me! Danny. Danny, you all right? Yeah. It just knocked me down. License? No light. No license, Danny. I was blind. Didn't they see me? They saw you all right. You're lucky, Danny, because whoever it was, they tried to kill you. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin, and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Every Saturday evening, two top music makers bring CBS listeners an hour of great entertainment. Von Monroe is on hand with his famous band, playing the five top tunes of the week, as chosen by Variety. Gene Autry then comes along with a half hour of ranch ballads and round-up comedy. The Von Monroe Caravan and The Gene Autry Show are regular Saturday evening features on most of these same CBS stations. Hear them both this Saturday. Night slips out of Broadway's fingers. Broadway is left alone, empty-handed and bewildered. The long, long day, 100% pure, 100% unadulterated, now walks the street and invites. So, what's to do, kid? Well, there's the guy at the newsstand with the comic books and the hot tips. No. There's the pinball machines and the flea circus. Uh-uh. Well, there's the trash baskets with the morning papers. Try that. Hmm. Day-old murder of a bakery driver warmed over for this morning's commuters. Nothing. A policeman run down by an unidentified car. Better. And at police headquarters, you try to readjust the adhesive on your ribs when the door bursts open. Danny, what do you think you're doing? Leave the bandage alone. Don't get upset, Dr. Sinskey. I was just trying to ease it a little. Take your hands away from it, here. Let me look. It's all right, isn't it? Who did this job on you? Boys in the police emergency hospital. Oh, medical students, amateurs, college boys. That bad? As a matter of fact, it excites a Satan envy in me, Danny. This is a very progressive way to apply a bandage to a cracked rib. Hmm. What are you doing? It's sad. That's good. Serves you right. You couldn't call your old friend Dr. Sinskey no matter what time of night. You don't approve of Sinskey's methods, huh? It's not that. I... The next time someone tries to kill you, Danny, please call on me. Do that for an old friend, please. You made a deal. Contusions, abrasions. This will leave a small scar to make you interesting. Otherwise, you'll live. Thank you, doctor. I can button up my shirt now? What's the matter? I called on you for another reason, too, Danny. Yeah? Here, let me help you with the buttoning. Yeah, Danny, we completed the examination of the body of Maurice Bernstein. And? I won't bore you with medical terminology, but the man was beaten in such a way. A new way for hoodlums. Methodically, systematically, beaten even after he sank into unconsciousness. Whoever attacked him, Danny, made sure Maurice Bernstein would die. Doctor, that slip of paper on my desk that I totally just brought in. Oh, of course. There's an address. Uh-huh. Uh, 2650 Riverside Drive. Who's Danny? Maurice Bernstein's. I'm gonna find out why somebody wanted him dead. I beg your pardon. Are you...? Whatever you want me to be, that's what I am. In this place... Oh, pardon me. Russell speaking. Again. Look, Mrs. Braverman, just tell Mr. Braverman to pull down the blinds. That's my only advice to you. How do you like that? Somebody wanted to look at Mr. Braverman. Now, what is your complaint? My name's Clover from the police. Here are my wrists. Slip the handcuffs on them. Take me far away. Arrange solitary. You don't look like a criminal, Mr. Russell. You been working here long? Uh, I'm a new boy. I'm just breaking in one month. Did you know Maurice Bernstein? I read about him in the papers about hoodlums beating him up. I'm trying to find out something about him. Well, I can tell you this. He lived in apartment six, a four-room apartment shared by four other gentlemen who had exclusive rights to use kitchen number 2A. Otherwise, it was just... It's a nice day, yes, isn't it, between Mr. Bernstein and me? Any one up there in his apartment now? Any of the four gentlemen? I curtsied them all out on their way to work this morning. I'll want to talk to them later. About seven o'clock, I think. That's when they'll all be home from the world. Another pardon, please? Russell speaking? Yes, Mr. Scarne. The mail is in. And how do I know whether you've got anything? I haven't put it up yet. Well, all right, then. We'll wait for a moment, sir. It's a rebel, Mr. Clover. He wants me to see if he has any mail before I put it in his box. I'll wait. Thank you. Let me see. Giordano, Westphal, Valentine... Look, Mr. Clover. What? A letter for Morris Bernstein. Let me have it. I can tell you who it's from, the girl whose name and address is on the upper left-hand corner. I can see that. Yes, but this girl, she's Morris's girlfriend. They write letters to each other, even though they could phone. This has been going on since the girl moved away from him. Oh? When did that happen? Oh, just before I came to work here. Someone told me... Let me see. Maybe Morris. Mr. Scarn, were you clicking? No mail, Mr. Scarn. There was no more mail for Mr. Scarn, and sorry. No more information about Morris Bernstein. Very sorry. Try the girl, Leah Golden, on the return address. Maybe she could help. Maybe Leah could. I tried it. The Woman's Room At a rooming house on West 76th, a woman shook him off out of the window and told me Leah Golden had moved to another rooming house on West 90th, 2346 West 90th. It took 10 minutes. No Leah Golden. Moved to a furnished room in a flat on 116th Street. A kid told me Miss Golden was a nice lady. Gave him bubble gum, but was gone now. Moved. Don't ask nobody where, Mr., because nobody knows. At headquarters I put out an all points bulletin on Leah Golden. Find her, I said. What does she look like, they asked me. I added it up for them. All the scraps of description I'd salvaged in darkened hallways on the screaming street. Find her, I said. And at one in the morning... Danny? Danny, you're asleep? No, Dr. Sinskey. There's no time, Danny. They found Leah Golden. What? The call came to my office, routine. Then she's... No, Danny. Just hurt. How bad, I don't know. Where? In a vacant lot on Amsterdam Avenue. The man who found her said she was beaten up. The ambulance is waiting, I thought maybe... Let's go. From somewhere out of the alleys, detaching themselves from the shadowed streets, from the unlit doorways, breaking away from the night whispering they'd come. The seekers, after someone else's pain, they stood in a circle, silent, hungry for the spectacle. Stood on tiptoe, strained for a look at the girl lying broken in a patch of weeds. The policeman held them back, and they murmured their seething protest. And in the building standing at the edge of the lot, windows had been flung open, heads poked out of them, and the gallery seats were filled. Dr. Sinskey pushed away open for us, and they retreated from his fury, and he kneeled at the girl's side. Uh, is my case, Danny, a bottle? Give it to me. This one? Yeah, yeah, yeah. Quickly. So much blood. Miss Golden. Not now, Danny, not now. I'm sorry. I thought... In the morning, you can question her. In the morning, maybe. What's the only excitement a garbage man'll move her? Who was that? You up there in that building. Who was that? Danny, I need help with the girl. Gently. Very gently. I nodded another officer into the building to look out for who had yelled down to us. To bring him to me. I'd be at headquarters. And I helped Dr. Sinskey. Back at headquarters, I waited. The officer came in, reported no one in the building knew who it was, and yelled. Then, later, a couple of hours later, word came down from Dr. Sinskey that I could talk to the girl. Miss Golden? You are Mr. Clover. The nurse told me. Before you sit down... Yes? Will you crank up this bed so I can sit up so we can talk, please? Sure. All right? Oh. Oh. Pull it down. Oh, my back. I didn't realize. That's better. I can come back later, Miss Golden. No. All right. But if it's too much to talk now... Please. Who beat you up? I don't know. Boys. Young men. I'd never seen them before. No faces you'd recognize? No faces, but... But the names they call me. I've heard them before. In Europe. There's something else. You want to know why I was running away? We need to know that. I was running away from a man. Morris Bernstein? No. Oh. Oh. Then who? I don't understand it. Wait. I lived at the same apartment house that Morris did. I know. That's why we were... I met him there, Morris. We... I don't know. We went to the movies together and did things like walking and looking at each other's face. Something was happening between us. Something... Morris hated the word love. He said it wasn't enough. Then why were you running? A man worked there at the apartment house. What man? He wanted me to... He... He said that a nice girl like me shouldn't be spending all that money for rent. He said that... What man? Listen to me. One night he walked into my room. I tried to reason with him, but he wasn't hearing me, so I screamed. He ran away, out of the room. Didn't you tell someone about it? Morris. Morris had him discharged. He went to the owner of the building and had him discharged. The man's name, Miss Golden? I don't know. Why, to you? The name, they called him by, that's all. Richie. They called him that, and after that I ran, but he followed me wherever I ran, he followed. You'll be all right, Miss Golden. I'll try to make it that way. Hey. Hey there, Mr. Clover. Come back to the clubhouse to look for me. Yeah, I am. How are you feeling, Mr. Peel? I'll feel better after this. Nothing like a workout on the barbells to make a man feel good. Uh-huh. You caught me in the middle of some repetition presses, Mr. Clover. Press away, I'll wait. Thanks. Now? Well, I relax between exercises, Mr. Clover. What's on your mind? You are, Mr. Peel. That's why I'm here. Oh, you want to hand me that sweatshirt? We got a girl down at the doctor's hospital. She says you were bothering her. Oh? What's her name? Leah Golden. She only knew you as Richie, the Titans. Your club calls you that, too. Yeah, I know Leah Golden. She got hurt, huh? On account of you, Richie. Oh, come now. I'll tell you about it. You were after her while you were superintendent in her apartment. She got you fired, didn't she? I quit that job. The people there... Well, you know. Leah told Morris Bernstein about you walking in on her one day, so Morris saw to it you got fired. People like that think they run the world, don't they? People like you, Richie. No, not me. Look at me. An out-of-work guy. Somebody waves a finger and I'm out of a job. But you figured a way to get back at them, didn't you? Volunteering your services to these kids. Look, I'm cooling off. Time for my bicep building exercises. You want to watch out for a minute? Uh-uh, leave him alone. I said leave him alone. Hey. Clover, don't push me around. Stand there and listen. The kids, Richie. You heated them up, fed them your poison, pointed out Morris Bernstein and Leah Golden and sent sick them. I did that, huh? Good for me. With Bernstein, you were there, huh? You finished it up when the kids were through. Your boys, Peele, the juvenile authorities will want them. You got a long way to go, Clover. Just uptown. Get your shirt on. That easy, huh? Oh, you're so... Oh! You're soft, Clover. You look big, but you're soft. Like I said, Peele, uptown. In the time of June, Broadway shimmers like an enchanted island. Night falls and the wave of neon floods the streets, showers it with its light and color and the million sounds. And at Ebb's, the pavement strike glints for dreams were caught in the mud. It's Broadway, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway, my beat. Broadway's My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover with Charles Calvert as Tartaglia. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. The musical score was composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. Included in tonight's cast were Harry Bartel, Maria Palmer, Barney Phillips, Jack Crouchon, Billy Hallop, and Howard McNeer. Jack Benny, Ims and Andy, Charlie and Edgar, they're off on summer vacation, but Sunday night on CBS still offers one of radio's top bargains in entertainment. Red Skelton, Lucille Ball, and Corliss Archer are still here with their unbeatable brands of comedy, plus the bright new comedy star Steve Allen. There's superb music with Dick Hames and Joe Stafford on the contented hour, with Guy Lombardo and his sweetest music, This Side of Heaven, with Percy Faith, his orchestra, and his guest stars. Horace Hyde is on hand with the original Youth Opportunity Program, and Hit the Jackpot can hit home to you with fine prizes if you get a call and can solve the secret saying. They're all here this Sunday on most of these same CBS stations, so be listening, won't you? Joe Walter speaking. This is CBS where the Goldbergs are every Saturday night at the Columbia Broadcasting System.
