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 sunlight of an October morning, Broadway stands on its street corner and breathes deep of the autumn filtered air, presses out of its lungs the taste of the night past. This is the time of day when neon is silent, spectaculars doze, the shadows have not yet found their final shapes, and the pavement is flecked with glints of sun fragments. Doorways are opened on the October day and the night dreams are swept into the gutters. It's the time of the coffee and cakes and break from the starting gate and the odds even up you never come in. And where I was, the sunlight filtered through Italian damask swiftly caressed Grecian fragments, a torso and black marble, a head in stone, pocked with antiquity, a glass case with golden coins hermetically sealed against corrosion and desire, and impervious to it all the man who leaned fastidiously against a Grecian column, then lifted his glass of champagne, silently toasted the bust of Plato, then let the realization flow over him that a policeman was there among his treasures. You respond well you people, quickly. Bravo. At headquarters they said your call sounded urgent. Did they say that? How perceptive of you people. The extraordinary qualities one finds in the most unimaginative of the delicious. That's right Mr. Hanson, you have no imagination. That's why you'll have to tell me the reason I'm here. It's exquisite. You'll be ravished by it. Shall we set it off with champagne? Look, I... You reject the bubbly. It's going to be such a grisly day, Mr. Clover. I promise you. It's off to a good start. Goodbye, Mr. Hanson. Come back, idiot man. Come back. In this room full of dead antiquity there is so much vibrant death, pulsating death. Can you turn your back on it? Idiot man. Someone's dead? There will be. Does the statement chafe up an emotion in you? Who? Nola, my wife. Once of such beauty, such beauty that would put all these my Grecian delicacies to shame. That torso for instance. It would blush to its tippy toes at the beauty that once was Nola's. But no more. And she's going to die because... There will be violence of one or another. Death, it is almost too much to hope for, is it not? Though Nola deserves it. Howl, that old girl, deserves it. She's done something? Yes. She convinced a boy to come here all the way from Europe. Not down as of a boy. Kurt could turn on the old girl. Young gods turn on old beauty sometimes. Destroy it because it offends their sense of the aesthetic. Kurt? Kurt Bauer. A young thing with a pair of skis. I fear Nola is playing with her own demise in that boy and she's not aware of it. No more than she's aware that... That what? That my daughter Connie, by a former less colorful marriage, also has no love for Nola. You must talk to Connie at her place on Sutton. Ask her why she loves Nola so helplessly. It'll amuse you. And you, Mr. Hanson, what about you? Moi? I too am a creature of violence. Delicious, isn't it? I don't know one day to the next how I'll react when something's taken away from me. I fear for Nola, Mr. Glover. Such an exquisite fear. And that's why you called us? But exactly. Nola's a lovely old girl. I'd fret if there was so much as a scratch on her. You'll prevent that, you people, won't you? If you can. If you can. And saying it, Mr. Hanson poured himself a drink, moved over to the slender Grecian column, faced me and took his stance next to Plato. He fingered his mustache, caulked his head and used a half of his mouth for a smile. That's the way I left Mr. Hanson. Then call his daughter, be told that Miss Hanson was not at home momentarily. Momentarily she had an appointment elsewhere at Rockefeller Plaza. The ice skating rink. So go there. Have her paged. Miss Hanson? Miss Connie Hanson, please? And watched the skaters briefly. The young thing who catches your eye in pirouettes. And Swiftie, the rapid boy on racing blades. And the lady who gets up again, brave and intent and skates close to the rail. And the very tall young woman who skims out of the crowd and talks to the announcer. Hi, Miss Hanson. That man has to wait. Do you want to see me? Yes. My name's Glover. Can we sit down? Sure, if you want. I'm from the police, Miss Hanson. Go on, go on. I'm not panicking. I had a talk with your father a little while ago. What's his current burden? I'm not sure, Miss Hanson. He seems to be worried about your stepmother. He should have started to worry about her 15 years ago, the day he married her. If I were he, I'd give up by now. You know, come philosophical about her. What did he say about stepmother Nola? He said something would happen to her. Somebody... Kurt? He mentioned a name, Kurt Bauer. Kurt Bauer. You know something? I've been waiting for Kurt for two hours, just to cross hands with him and dance a blue Danube with him. He won't show up. Would you show up for me, Mr. Clover? For a girl who's six feet tall? I wonder. My complexion's not so bad, but look at this hair. Ever see hair like this on a girl? I chuckle to myself when I put lipstick on my face. Tell me about Kurt Bauer. Hmm, and see me gush. Don't make me do that, Mr. Clover. I'd titter and poke you with an elbow. Just tell me who he is. Young man, we found him in the Italian Elk. We? Stepmother Nola and I. We were skiing. Something came out of the balloon plopped down beside us and made nasty little slaloms in the snow. That was Kurt. What's he doing here? Stepmother Nola stopped waxing his skis long enough to tell him she could get him a job come winter at Lake Placid. Then why would he want to do anything to harm her? My daddy tell you he would. Dad was ribbing. He's a ribber. Great sense of humor. He reads Plato and hits passers-by over the head with folded newspapers. How about you? You don't like Mrs. Hansen, dear. I don't like any woman who's lovely. You blame me? Now pardon me, Mr. Clover. There's a tall man skating over there. He's alone. I never saw him before, but maybe he's looking for me. I'll give him something to look at. And watch the girl skate away with a surprising grace, glide to the center of the rink and begin an endless whirling, a whirling whose fuel was disappointment and frustration, the frenetic spinning, turning, cutting of numerals into ice, the magic symbols to draw beauty to her. And it doesn't happen until the awkward crash against the spectator's railing, the clumsy fall that sparked only a laugh, and no one helps her to her feet. Check now with the proper authorities for an address on Kurt Bauer, ski instructor. Be given it. Go there to an apartment whose odors are of wax, of oiled wood and steel, and blend it with the perfume of the woman who runs her fingers across the boy's mouth as he speaks. Please, Nola, please. The man frightened you, Kurt. You've met his type before. Don't be frightened, darling. You will understand, Mr. Clover, that Mrs. Hansen... Nola, darling, Kurt, Nola. Please take your hand from me. In the presence of this gentleman, it is not... Do you realize what you're doing to this boy, Mr. Clover? You frighten him because he's been harassed by men like you before. By police? You're all alike, whatever they call you. Police, authority, men on horseback, men in uniform. Only you're not, are you, Mr. Clover? On horseback, I mean, or in uniform. But Kurt has met you before. What Mrs. Hansen is trying to say for me, and I would wish she did not... Kurt, I was only trying to... What Mrs. Hansen is trying to say is that I served with the Nazi Alpine Corps against my will, that I deserted them, that my innocence has been proven by your occupation forces in my native Germany, that my relationship with Mrs. Hansen is only... Only that, Mr. Clover. I'm a sort of fading employment agency for young men who fly beautifully through the air. Your husband said he was afraid for you, Mrs. Hansen, that something was going to happen to you. Something bad? By whose hand? Your stepdaughters, maybe. Kurt's, maybe. Your husband's, maybe. Shall I give you my reaction? Mrs. Hansen, we... I'll give it to you. My reaction. Connie, my stepdaughter, pathetic girl, she's so in love with Kurt. She might hurt me, even try to kill me. Yes, she might. And I could understand it. Believe me, I could. And my husband, you've met him. He's vicious, no? But if he stooped to soil his hands that much, it would astonish me. And Kurt, my Kurt, could you hurt me? Why? I want you to go away from here, Nola. Some place where you will be safe, where you... You're frightened for me, Kurt? You don't want anything to happen to me, your nice American friend? That inn in Vermont. There is snow there now. You will enjoy it, Nola. We'll talk about it, okay? When this gentleman leaves, we'll talk about it. I wish to assure you, sir... He's leaving now, Kurt. See? I'm helping him with his coat. And then we'll discuss it. Here. A tug on your jacket, Mr. Clover, and you're ready for the streak. Goodbye, Mr. Clover. Danny? Come on in, Markhamen. What's on your mind? Nothing. Just going home, Danny. How about you? Yeah. A few minutes. You bowling tonight? Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Well, don't do me any favors. You don't feel like bowling. Say you don't feel like bowling. Yeah. What's the matter with you? I'm bewildered, Markhamen. You ever get bewildered? That's why I bowl so much. It takes my mind off the many times I'm bewildered. I can't figure those people. Each one of them. Dale Hanson, his wife, his wife, that Kurt Bauer... What about him? I don't know. If I said they were strange, would you know what I meant? Me either. There's something shrill about all of them. Like they were waiting for something to happen, like each was waiting for the other to make a move. One of them was... Danny Clover speaking. Dale Hanson, Mr. Clover. Yes, what is it, Mr. Hanson? Have you been inside Kurt's apartment recently? About three hours ago. Why? Isaac, just a revisit. I strongly suggest it, Mr. Clover. Goodbye. Who was it, Danny? I'll tell you on the way. Come on. The door's wide open, Danny. Thank you very much for the information, Muggerman. Go on in. Right, all right. What's supposed to be here in Kurt's apartment? I don't know. Look in that room. Danny, look. Look, Danny. He stood there in the doorway, Muggerman did, pointing, pointing at Kurt Bauer, lying there on the bed, arms outstretched like the beginning of an embrace, like the end of one. And beneath the white silk scarf around his throat was the shaft of a skeephole, steel tipped, impaling him. It was the thing that killed him, the thing that had murdered Kurt Bauer. You were listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Robert Q. Lewis is in the Waxworks for a solid hour of pop tunes every Saturday night on CBS Radio. If you go in for 10 pan alley favorites, come in for Robert Q.'s Waxworks just a little bit later tonight on most of these same stations. Robert Q.'s named guests who know their music and sometimes sing it. America's Discs America Currently Seld On. Enjoy them all on Robert Q.'s Waxworks later tonight on CBS Radio. It's the time that we're saved up for, Saturday night on Broadway, the time when the great explosion flings itself out over the city and the lights climb in columns against the wall of night like licking serpents. Crowd gathers to give it voice, the hawkers, the gawkers, the hurry up boys, the take it easy girls, the laughers, the weepers, the footsteps, the sigh of silk, the whispers. And inside a thin sheet of glass away, the cocktails on the varnished bar, the piano, the secret sounds from a corner table. This is it, kid, Broadway in the blaze of the moon, Saturday night time. And the night had an hour in it to find a man murdered, to consider him, to watch the police technical department attend him, to talk to the medical examiner, the hour to officiate, then to leave, and to make a call to Dale Hanson, summon him to headquarters. For the first time in my life, Mr. Clover, I feel, well, municipal, like a citizen. It has the shade of a sensation about it. You knew we'd find Kurt Bauer dead, didn't you? Of course. I called you from the phone next to his deathbed. I've been complimented before on my presence of mind, so you didn't bother. Did you kill him, Mr. Hanson? You are Mr. Clover's, I suppose you people would say, sidekick. Did you kill him? Certainly not. I went to give him his fee for making my dear ones proficient on ice. Let's see that medical examiner's report, Muggleman. Thanks. Kurt Bauer died at about seven o'clock, according to this. And I called you at nine. From six to eight thirty, I was being sweated and massaged. You may check my club, the Hermitage Club. Check it, Muggleman. Gramercy five, one one one oh. Let me ask you something, Mr. Hanson. Certainly. You tried to throw us off the track, didn't you? Told me your wife was in danger while it was... Certainly. This whole turn of events is merely a pleasant surprise. Who killed him, Mr. Hanson? I suppose someone who's forte is pleasant surprises. I caused you to frown. Forgive. Did you know your daughter was in love with him? She'll grieve. And your wife? My wife is a foolish woman and harmless. Her attempts to recapture a lost youth is saddening, but I bear with it. I just spoke to a man surnamed Bill, Danny. Yeah? I gave him a massage from six to eight. Give him a half hour to get dressed. You're in the clear, Mr. Hanson. You can get out of here. Then the phone call to the Hanson apartment, be plugged into the chauffeur's quarters, be told in a crescendo of yawns that Mrs. Nola Hanson had been taken to Grand Central at about four o'clock for a jaunt to Vermont. That she packed three custom-made bags, stopped off at Brooks Brothers for an undersuit of woolies. Then to your room to watch the October night die out of your reach. Then the morning, in the quick searing coffee against the call to be made. The call on Connie Hanson, stepdaughter of Nola, hater of Nola, unloved by Kurt. Miss Hanson, please. Who are you? Police. Oh, now you mustn't trouble Miss Constance with why she tried to do away with herself. She tried to commit suicide when? Last night. Can I see her? Well, the doctor left things like you to my discretion. Can I see her? Well, I don't see what harm it'll do. Come along. Miss Constance? It didn't make me any more attractive, did it? I thought maybe. Why Miss Hanson? Why? Kurt did, haven't you heard? I ever tell you about Kurt, beautiful Kurt, handsome Kurt. You're not a woman, so you don't know what it was when he touched you even by mistake. He never drew his hand away from you the minute he did. I could gush like this forever. You could have killed him, tried suicide, knowing it wouldn't work, to make us think that. You're a ray of sunshine, Mr. Colmer. You really are a big hell. You're thinking I could kill Kurt. That makes me something, doesn't it? Really something. A girl a man could want. A man could want a girl like that. I'm sorry, Miss Hanson. You better leave, don't you think? Danny? Oh, hello, Gino. Happy holiday. Oh, thanks, Gino. I... holiday? What holiday? You kidding? No, no, I'm not. What holiday? Why, Danny, on this date in 1774, Samuel Adams did call together the Continental Congress. Oh, I guess it slipped my mind. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I guess it slipped my mind. Don't let it bother you. Last year I forgot, too. And Danny, to celebrate this auspicious occasion, I gave my oldest, Emilio, a new Columbia bicycle. Why, what a happy laughing lad he was upon receiving it. I'm sure he was. Well, Danny, let us not quarrel. To work. If you insist. As indeed I do. However, the news I have to give you is pause. It's what? Pause. Not much of it. I put in a phone call to Vermont and the inn where Mrs. Hanson is staying. She was out walking the hills, so I left a message to get down here post-haste. What else, Gino? I already told you, Danny, that the news was... Hello, Muggerman. Hi, Gino. Danny. Yeah? I've been over the immigration department most of the morning checking on Kurt Bauer. What did you find out? Oh, not much we don't know already. He was in the German army, deserted. You know what Kurt told you. Just one thing, though. Yeah? Bauer came over here with his mother, set her up in a little house out in Flushing. Here's the address. Oh, thanks, Muggerman. Kurt was something fine, Herr Clover. Something beyond your understanding. I met him, Mrs. Bauer, talked to him. He told me he was a deserter. My Kurt was a man of intelligence. When promises, dreams were not what they pretended to be, Kurt fled from them, as he fled from your authorities in our country. He said he'd been an unwilling Nazi, and that he was cleared. He was, but it was still flight, because Mrs. Hansen beckoned. She loved him. Many have loved Kurt. Many Mrs. Hansen's, younger, richer, less greedy for youth, and many husbands have wished my Kurt dead for this. Dale Hansen? A curious man. This house, it was his gift to Kurt. Kurt's clothes, his apartment, money to spend. You mean there were a gift through Mrs. Hansen? No, no, from him, from him personally. Because my Kurt went to him when we came to your country, explained to him his interest in Mrs. Hansen was only professional. She had talent for skiing. Explained to him his gratitude for the opportunities of your country. My Kurt was an intelligent man. You could call it that. Was it not intelligent of him to call to Mr. Hansen immediately when you found him with Mrs. Hansen? When you told them of her husband's fear for her? Kurt did that? Immediately. To ask of Mr. Hansen's a favor of money for our return to our home. Kurt had no wish to be present when... What did Hansen do? He promised Kurt the money. He told Kurt to come here to me. He would bring the money to us. You wish more from me, Mr. Clover? No, nothing. You leave there and get back to Manhattan and back to headquarters. Check in and make another phone call. Call Vermont and talk to a desk clerk and be given answers. Then to a Park Avenue apartment where you'd been once before. Mr. Clover, come in. Watch Mr. Hansen as he took up his post again, next to Plato. And then notice that to the room another treasure had been added, his wife, Nola Hansen. This is a delight. I'm glad you're back in town, Mrs. Hansen. We're all glad. You've heard about Kurt, haven't you? I cried for him on the train, all the way to Boston. Then she met a Harvard professor. He took a clinical interest in her. How did you find out about Kurt while you were in Vermont, Mrs. Hansen? Your sergeant left word about what happened. The desk clerk at the inn gave me quite a detailed report. I forgot to tell you something, Nola. What? I saw Kurt a little before the police. I went to his chambers to speak with him about you. And there he was, that tool of his trade right through his chest. I cried. I really did. Have either one of you heard about your daughter, about Connie? Yes, she tried to commit suicide. Well, she does that frequently, Mr. Clover. However, she's very careful not to succeed. By now she knows precisely to the pill her limit. She never exceeds it. Poor, desperate girl. I wish I could feel more fatherly about her. Well, how could you, dear? Connie's so tall and, you know... Let me ask you something, Mrs. Hansen. Yes? When I first met you, you were with Kurt Bauer. You were a different person. Nola has that talent. Thank you, dear. When I first met you, Mrs. Hansen, you seemed so concerned about Kurt, so warm toward him. Well, he was alive then. That's your talent, huh? Precisely alive. Kurt was something shining, vibrant, dead. Well, he's dead. He sure, sure is. Well, Nola? Mr. Hansen. Don't be embarrassed, Mr. Clover. Nola and I will say our goodbyes right in front of you. You planned it all, didn't you, Mr. Hansen? Exceedingly well, don't you think? Let a girl in on it, will you, boys? What are you two talking about? About something exquisite, Nola. I had a man murdered and Mr. Clover can't touch me. You murdered Kurt? I didn't say that, my dear. What time did you catch the train for Vermont, Mrs. Hansen? Oh, well, let me see. Now, the chauffeur drove me to the station a little before four and the train left soon after that. The train left, but you didn't. What do you mean? There was a train at four and another one at eight. You took the one at eight. I called the inn at Vermont. You arrived too late to have taken the four o'clock train. What do you mean? I stayed around that dismal station all that time. You don't pay attention, Nola. He didn't say that either. That's right, I didn't. You didn't stay at the station. You used that time to murder Kurt Bauer. Me? This is very important, Nola. You really should make an effort to concentrate. He said you. Your husband said he had a murder committed. He was right. He had you commit the murder, Mrs. Hansen. Do you expect me to listen to that? I do. Indeed I do. Your husband's a clever man. He understands people. He knows how people close to him will react. Right, right. He set something in motion, Mrs. Hansen, through me. He used me to frighten Kurt away from you. I told Kurt that something might happen to you. Kurt didn't want to be mixed up in it, so he ran. Like he always ran, from everything, whenever there was trouble. Kurt didn't run, I ran. Kurt told you to go. And while you were away, he planned to leave the country. I found that out, too. I drew a diagram about what was going to happen. It has. So, congratulate me, Nola. Dale, help me. That's more emotion than you've shown to me for years. Truly, Nola, I've missed it. That's why I did what I did. I grew bored about being embarrassed among my friends about you. Dale, help me. You killed Kurt, Mrs. Hansen, because he was walking out on you. He told you that when you were waiting for the train, when you went to see him. Listen to me, Dale. You've got to help me. I was foolish. I was foolish before. You, you stopped me before. All you had to do this time was to tell me to stop. And it was innocent, Dale. You know that. Listen, Dale, I was doing it for Connie, for your daughter. She's so unattractive. I was trying to convince Kurt to be kind to her, to love her. Don't you see? Don't you see, Dale? And when you do have an emotion for me, my dear, it's so distasteful. Goodbye, Nola. Nighttime blares down Broadway. The canyon streets gather it in like some passion. And the night is a backdrop for a million fragments. Neon and roar and melting shapes and shock and clots of crowd. It's a fury that sweeps you up and holds you close and throws you into the gutter of your choice. 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 and Jack Crouchon as Muggavin. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Betty Lou Gerson was heard as Nola Hanson and Ted Osborne as Dale Hanson. Featured in the cast were Mary Shipp, Irene Tedrow and Robert Boone. When Squire Jack Benny invites the whole gang to a swank Hollywood nightclub, the natural question arises in everybody's mind, who's picking up the check? They'll find out and so will you tomorrow night when CBS Radio brings you Jack Benny time. Bill Anders speaking. And remember the Frankie Lane show is your date with slick syncopation every Sunday afternoon on the CBS Radio Network. Do you hear me? Oh yeah. All right. Brought to you by RadioClassics.com. All copyrights are the property of their respective owners.
