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. When Broadway turns into October, the happy trumpet gleams gold and makes its autumn music. The sound of it spreads across the beginning shadows, mixes with specks of a thousand colors, gives evening a hurry-up song. And October's man is there again, the old grad whose day is Saturday, the chap in the double-breasted gray Oxford who wears the winning colors, who holds high the pennant, who buys the drinks, slaps the backs, and makes the girl he met on the 50-yard line wear his beanie. Magic time on Broadway, Indian summertime, but suddenly it's night and it's dark. And at the end of it, to the east, another quality waterfront river and sounds of night washed against pilings and dim light cut across by the glare of a policeman's splash. Danny? It ends down here, Danny. Okay. Right here at the end of the pier. Whoever got shot, what caliber gun was it? 32, looks brand new, one shot missing in the chamber. Well, somebody got hurt in this dock, no doubt about it. A trail of blood, that gun right beside it. Who found it? Patrolman Ensor, he called in. I told him to get it on the wires to all the hospitals. Person with a bullet wound. You notice this, Mega Man? Overturned boxes. Fight first, then a trigger got pulled. Uh-huh. I got an opinion, Danny. What? A fight first. Probably figures whoever got shot was carried up the end of the pier, was thrown into a car and driven away. Probably. Yeah. And on night waters, the infinite play and gleam of a million reflections of light and on winds strayed from unnamed places of sea, the gliding of dark gulls, their flight un-patterned, searching, staring into flowing deeps. Then the swift plunge of a gull, beak piercing a morsel that is only drowning moonlight and the slow up-circling bewilderment, background for gun, blood, and the unknown violence. And with Detective Muggerman, check it in at headquarters, make out the reports, say the goodnights, then walk home, hit the room where they're asleep in their old dreamings. And in the morning, headquarters routine while waiting for the returns on night violence. And about 11 Sergeant Ataglia brings them in. I see you are here, Danny, where I can put my finger on you. You been looking for me, Gino? One would almost think you have been keeping yourself from me. Oh, never that, Gino, never deliberately. What have you? One would almost think I have committed a failure in some department or other. If I have so committed, don't spare me. What's with you, Gino? You're doing fine. So easy for you to say. I mean it. You've been splendid all down the line. It's just that I've been busy this morning, Gino, a lot of things to check on. No need to apologize, Danny, to make excuse. Write it down to one of my passing moods. Well, you wish to receive what I have for you? Of course, Gino. Well, you just came in, Danny. What just came in? What? Oh, just came in the report on the tracing of the gun you found last night. A feverish sleepless night was spent by some of our boys doing same. So have I been informed. I'll try to make it up to them, Gino. Who does the gun belong to? No one, no one in particular. Let us put it this way, Danny. Let us say a foresaid gun was a part of a shipment of munitions and weapons from Ruxton Arms, Incorporated to a foreign port. Let us say that even now said cargo is in the hold of the S.S. Montevideo, lying at Pier 12 East River, ready to take off. Let us say I even have the number of the bill of lading warranted same. With all this, I would not go out on such a limb and tell you specifically that... You said you had the number, Gino. Indeed, I have. Give it to me. Thank you. You're welcome. Tell her I called it in. There'll be somebody down here in a minute. Just take it easy, will you? That ain't my job. You guys will work. That ship's got a move, don't it? Trouble? Yeah, who are you? Danny Clover, police. Oh, not that much trouble. We'll be over in a minute. The hiring boss didn't show for the shape-up. Shape-up? You're not a port cop? Uh-uh. What do you need? What's a shape-up? Well, these guys, stevedores, waiting for the hiring boss in the afternoon shape. The hiring boss just choosing who he wants to work, is that it? That's right. What happens to the rest of them, then? You mean the ones the boss don't point a finger at? They don't get to work. Who are you? Tommy London, checker for cargo. You're the man I want to see. Because my name's Tommy London or because I'm a checker? I've got the number of a bill of lading drawn on the S.S. Montevideo. I want to get some information about it. Like what kind? Well, here's the number. The shipper is the Rockston Arms, Incorporated. Let's go look it up, shall we? There's a desk over there. Uh-huh. How come the hiring boss didn't show up today? It's unusual, isn't it? There'll be another one. I called the officer. I didn't ask you that. I asked whether... Yeah, it's kind of unusual, yeah. Why didn't he show? I don't know why he didn't show. We're not that funny. Here's the blue copies of the bills of lading. While you're at it, I'll want the hiring boss' name and address. Do you have it? Yeah, her name's Marty Connell. I'll dig out his address for you. What about these bills of lading? I'll want the location of the shipment. On the boat you mean, huh? That's right. Yeah, it is right here. I'll copy it down for you. For Marty Connell's address, too. Be a busy day, huh? Sure, whatever you want, mister. Then into the hold of the freighter, SS Montibodale, and clinging still to the bulkheads, the moisture, the vapor, the scent of dream-heavy ports of call, and the sway of vessel, the sleep-rocking, unswelling tide on wake of passing ship, and the walls of cargo, and down a narrow passageway the crates of munitions stacked neat, pressed deep into a curve of hull. And as a couple of the crew begin the searching and checking of the crates, the hour that drifts is sweat and cigarette smoke, and languid half-whispered salty tales laugh too saltily, and keep looking. Over here, mister. This is the one you're looking for, huh? Yeah, could be. It's the one you're looking for, mister. 32 caliber revolvers. The only crate that's been broken into, you see? Here, here. The kiss of the crowbar. Somebody sure went to a lot of labor to get himself a gun. The almost certain proof of the gun that had left a tracery of blood, the afterimage of violence on a harbor dock, had been stolen from here. So leave then, to an address the checker had given, a block from waterfront and four flights up. Back. You want something? I'm from the police, sir. I don't ask who because I don't care that much. All I ask is you want something? I'm looking for Marty Connell. How about that? You're looking for Marty. Is he here? You're looking for him by day, and me, I spent the night doing the same. Come on in, mister, and we'll both have a good cry over where is Marty. You won't mind the beds done made. Where I was when you came calling for Marty. Last night that Marty gave me no sleep, not being here. Look, Mrs. Connell. By the way, you know I'm a missus. If I wanted to let it, it could almost make me sad. You don't know where your husband is. Last night he should have been here with me. Last night I thought of surprises for Marty, but he didn't show. Right now he should be on the Dock's Point in its cellars making their day turning to gold. I just came from there, Mrs. Connell. Your husband hadn't shown up. You know, I called in and they said to me the same thing. They said Marty hasn't shown up. Where is he? I said he'll be around because I don't like it people should think I can't put my hand on my own husband. You want Marty to get along good? I told you. I think up surprises for him. I take long walks and figure them out all by myself. What's with Marty? He did a thing? Last night we found a fired revolver and traces of blood on the waterfront dock. Blood? Marty's? We don't know. Maybe you can tell me. You're saying you found all that and nobody to go with it? That's right. And why choose Marty for it? The fact that he wasn't of the shape up, what you just told me. I said he didn't sleep in his bed last night. That don't make him your corpse. We don't know if anyone was killed. All we know is someone was hurt. And you chose Marty. Go pick someone else's wife. Try it on her. Try several. You'll flip the reactions you'll get. I'm going back to bed mister. You better tip toe out, huh? Right back to headquarters now through the day's ending. Take the long way back through quieter streets, through neighborhoods where people come home to. A grocery store and scrubbed steps and parlor dates. And drive slowly and think about it. A gun pilfered from an arms shipment intended for use overseas. Used locally. Violence rerouted. And get to headquarters, check notations left on your desk. Some total of which no person turned up at hospitals with 32 caliber wound. No reports from doctors. One report close. A boy of 14 accidentally shot at his dad but missed. Anyhow it was a 22. A gift from his mother. And more negative reports drifted in and the phone call rounded up. Mark of an daddy with a dark end of fear 35. Dretched up a man he's newly dead. 32 caliber bullet wound. Down here, daddy. There he is. Identification? No wallet. Belt initials, MC. And look here in his arm. Tattoo. Heart narrow. Marty and Jones. Marty Cohen. Yeah, I'd say so. Dredge Fondiner. Yeah, doing routine jobs. And he's got a gun. Yeah, I'd say so. Yeah, doing routine channel work. It's the first time I've seen anything like this in years. Legs planted in concrete. Play rough on the docks, don't they? You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin, and starring Larry Thor as detective Danny Clover. Nobody likes crime except the criminals who create it, so anybody can understand why every community has protection against thievery, treachery, brutality, and murder. CETO, the Southeast Asia Treaty Organization, was set up by a community of nations to protect themselves against aggressive international criminal acts committed against them by other countries. CETO safeguards the life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness of the people of its member nations. CETO protects your life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. Help CETO help you. The odds are all even on Broadway this day, and Manhattan leers across the Gowanus Canal, kicks its heels, and screams the name of Johnny Mize. But the foreigners from Flatbush smile a secret smile, put their pitching arms in a windbreak, and coin a maxim, tomorrow is another day. So walk the magic street, dream the dream, how you would be out there, series all even the bat moist in your hand, and right field fence a mere 296 feet away. It's the dream for tomorrow, kid, and it's all yours. But it's no dream where you are, the night conversation at police headquarters and its rhetoric death, the friendly quiet talk with a man who's built in the background on waterfront violence. I saw you far, Marty, huh? Feet and cement. That's right, Mr. London. Yeah. Whoever it was must have had a real life hate for the guy. It's why I asked you to come here, Mr. London. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I helped you yesterday on that bill of lighting, now you need more help. You picked me out of the crowd, why? You know the waterfront. You're a checker on the dock where a Marty Connell worked. You could tell me things about Marty. Yeah, I could. Well, tell me. About Marty. Huh? I'll give him to you in two words, hiring boss. You think that's why he was killed? You ever worked a dock, Mr. Clover, in your life ever? Longshoreman, maybe? No. Yeah, I haven't lived. I can tell you why. All right, tell me. This would be your life, a wife, kids. You leave them still sleeping in a cold water flat, and you hit the docks with a shape-up. And if you care, will the kids get calcium for their bones, or the wife, or no slip? You wear a toothpick over your ear, and a man like Marty gives you the nod, throws you the brass check, and you stay alive for another day. And you come home beat by heavy cargo, and you're a big man in your family. You sound as if you've been through it. Uh-uh. No, I just walked the docks and made me a study. It's why I tried for checker and made it. I see. Go back a little to that thing with the toothpick. That you don't know about either? No, I don't. That's a sign, a symbol a longshoreman will pay off to the hiring boss for a day's work. Boss gets paid off, and longshoreman keeps tooth pick to pick his own teeth. Marty took payoffs like that? Even I, you, Mr. Clover. What about the men who wouldn't pay him off? Good question. Kick it around for a while. You might come up with an answer. Marty's killer. You have anyone in mind, Mr. London? While we've been talking, I've been running down a mental list. Guys I remember said bad things about Marty because they forgot to have toothpicks on their ears. Guys who... Mr. London, huh? Yeah, like this one guy who was almost a dock hero once. He laid for Marty in an alley one night, broken bottle in hand. Lucky Marty picked another alley to walk home that night. Who was the man? The boys carried him on their shoulders for a while, sang songs. George E. Harper. Got a room on, let's see, House 1324, Front Street. I've got a photographic memory for those things. Thank you, Mr. London, that's all. Have you been to some help? Yeah, you have. I'm glad. Anytime, Mr. Clover. Night, Mr. Clover. What are you knocking for? Come on in. I don't know you yet, kiddo. Let's not be... Who's given me all this pleasure? The police. Your name, George and Harper? Mitchell's the name, friend. Billy Bob Mitchell. And on account of your police, I'm going to make a point of it. Have a wallet, friend. Just the identification, friend, because your name's not Harper and you're in Harper's apartment. Afraid I got a five-sec under the eyes and glass? Identification you want? You got it. William Robert Mitchell. Billy Bob. 12, 12 grand, broker. You a broker, Mitchell? It says, don't it? What are you doing here? Waiting. I know the man downstairs with the key. We haven't understand it. The five dollar bill under the eyes and glass, huh? It ain't there no more. And you're waiting for what? Harper owes me dollars. He's been tough to catch up with, so I wait for him where he can find me. What does he owe you money for? I can't even borrow it. He does, huh? Now get with it, friend. Harper's a longshoreman. He ain't been working. He gets hungry. Needs what? To keep the body and mind doing their duty. So I offer my professional services. Billy Bob's known as the kind of man among the tug-and-haul boys on the docks. Now Billy Bob's... Hi, Georgie. You don't need a friend, Mitchell. I'll pay you. Ten percent compounded weekly, the paper says. I just call it the mine. So when you turn this furniture in... Connell's dead. I'll work. I'll pay you. Get out, both of you. I'm from the police, Mr. Harper. Why? You said it already. Connell's dead. He was shot and... And dipped in concrete and dropped in the river. Now there is a guy who died the way he lived. You killed him? Once. I almost tried. With a broken bottle. But it never happened. You said he was a cop, Georgie. You make a mouth like that, kiddo. The man pinches you. Yeah, I know. And you'll have to wait for your dough. You didn't get along well with Connell, did you? The day before yesterday, I worked for the first time in four months. The day before yesterday, I paid off. Georgie. Georgie, you mean you went to another broker to borrow? No. What did you want to do then? Look, Mitchell. That man's gonna slap a pinch on me. He's gonna have to. I'm the nicest suspect he's had all day. I could make it so the card reads assault and battery two. You want it to happen? I'll... Let's talk about that payoff you mentioned. You want a job, you slip a man a bill. You don't pay off, you don't work. What happened to me? Also, Connell spread the word around the other docks about me. It goes on. And the day before yesterday, you paid off. And yesterday, Connell gets dead. Am I going with you? That's right. Let's go. The ride uptown on fringe of October night with a man of many griefs, but none for Marty Connell's dying. At headquarters, book him on suspicion of murder. Then the squad room and the quick sleep, quick because morning came quickly. And after that, dock where Marty Connell had been hiring boss. And dock is a jut into gray waters and the horse chilled laughter of men waiting for a day's work, waiting for shape up. And against harbor wind, the clots of talk, of defamations, of two dollar bets, of half remembered women, women that never happened. And of other oftens, other docks. And at five minutes to eight, skirling the length of waterfront, the shrill sound. The waiting men form a circle around the new hiring boss. And too thick on the ear is the currency of the morning. Watch the glint and play of the brass checks in the hands of the man who has the kiss of a job in his power. Watch. And finally he tosses one. And another. And another. Till his hands are empty and the unhired move away from each other, move to a street where bar is and warm. And walk up to one, stop him, talk to him because there are things you need to know. You're a social worker, a tear dropper, you got a cozy place. What? Police. Imagine that. Just imagine. No job for you today, huh? You got a shrewd eye for things, mister. Don't let anybody ever tell you different shrews. I just want to talk to you. You worked this doc before? If I tell you yes, what happens? Guns go off, firecrackers plop, what? Then you're new at Marty Connell. It was a load I carried through life. No more though, huh? Now he's a statue in cement, I heard. Ha. That's Marty. You ever work for him? I want to tell you something, mister. If Marty was alive, I'd go out of my way just to find toothpicks in color so I could impress Marty. Work this doc. Today I've played it with nothing in my ear. Look at me, unemployed. You laughed about Marty's dying. Mm-hmm, like this. Huh? Then why'd you work this doc and not other docs? Why'd you keep coming back for more Marty? You know something? I'm gonna tell you. Yeah, anytime. You see that ship they're loading? From the Orient, that ship. Hits this doc about once every eight months. May, I'm a romantic. I like the way it smells, what it does to me. No other doc can make that statement. That's why you kept coming back to Marty, because a ship came in from the Orient every eight months. That and the other thing. I didn't tell you? No. I'll tell you. Marty is white. Ever seen her? What about her? Almost every morning a ship's in, she was down here for the shaper. Stayed the morning. War-type jeans ran her fingers through Marty's hair while watching the longshoreman at work and play. Who can ask for better working conditions than that? Marty didn't mind? Marty was proud. Guys would fight to work his doc. And you know something else? What? Two to one Marty's wife shows up again in a few days. I got a feeling about her. Kill me. That's a feeling I got. The way you fellas just pop in here. Well look, I'm right in the middle of... you oughtn't to be here. Just a few questions, Mrs. Connell. Widows don't mean anything to you fellas, do they? I'm a day old widow. Why did it take long? About what? Your husband. A lot of guys hated him, one of them flipped, one of them... what are you making me say it for? You used to come down to the docks, didn't you? What? Yeah, I used to come down to the docks. To visit your husband. I married him, I had privileges. I like to watch my husband in action where he worked. The way he'd move his head this much, twenty guys jumped. How about the stevedores? The guys? You kidding? Once one of them offered me a peanut butter sandwich. My husband Marty threw him in the river. And what? Where you going? I didn't see this before. Real pretty, huh? Genuine too. What are you going to do with it? What do you do? Eat off a bear tail? A plate like this. Some people hang stuff like this on the wall. I'm going to eat off it. Turning point in my life. A new plate, new perfume. Oh, let me see. Take a look at this stuff. That's French on that perfume bottle. It means Maiden Saigon. That's in Indochina where it came from. Brand new. Where this plate comes from too? Sure. Right off of both. Living, huh? Real turning point. Alright, Miss Connell. Thank you. So leave there and walk across the street. Repark the squad car so you can watch the apartment house you just came out of. Reason? Perfume from the Indies that arrived at the same time a boat from the Indies arrived. Conclusion? The widow had a friend. Conclusion? The friend had access to cargo from the Indies. So wait. And daytime drifts away and the city becomes evening. Lights go on in kitchens and in dining rooms and it's an hour's worth of family time. And evening becomes night and across the street a door opens. A cab is hailed and a widow gets in it. Follow it. West to Riverside Drive and south. And on 72nd, cross town to Lexington. Lexington to the village and Bank Street. And the cab stops and the widow gets out, pays the cab and goes upstairs. Wait just a little while longer and follow her into the apartment house. No word. You hear what I... Oh, sorry Mr. Clover. About what? No more information today. I'm a hard worker. This is my time for meditation. Let's go inside Mr. Lemon. You got your heart set on? Sure. You're a spoilsport Mr. Clover. How do I apologize to a widow Mrs. Connell? Turn your back on her and walk out. Yeah, try that Clover. Wearing your new perfume tonight Mrs. Connell? Real oriental. Want a sniff? Sniff. Turn it out baby. Hey, who you pushing? What's the matter with you? You crazy? Don't worry about it Mr. London. I've been to her place. She showed me the plate, the perfume. You did that baby? Why not? I'm proud of him. That's right Mr. London. It's a turning point in her life. Her husband's dead. Now she gets little knickknacks from every ship that lands at your dock. I can hardly wait till a boat lands in France Tommy. Hey, hey. I don't care who knows it Tommy. Tommy honey, Tommy dear. I like things. I like to show them to people and think look what I've got that you haven't got. That's about it Tommy. The pilfered gun that killed Marty Connell. The pilfered perfume his widow wears. Tommy. Tommy I'm talking to you. Ah Tommy I just want to ask you a question. What do you want? That fellow we bumped into last week when we went dancing together. He's forming at Pier 68 isn't he? Do you notice the way he looked at me? Why you, leave her alone. Take it easy London. Killed my husband now he wants to hit me. You know why I killed you. No, no I don't know why. You go crazy baby. I didn't kill anybody. But you told me. No girl likes to be tied down too much. And you're pretty. You know how to treat a girl. Nice things, perfume. It's not my fault you're stupid and get caught. You brought this cop to me. You asked me to come you told me. Okay baby. You want it this way London. I once saw my husband do that to a man Mr. Clover. Get your things Mrs. Connell. Doesn't it register? Just get your things. It's over huh? That's right. I didn't kill Marty what happens to me? There'll be something. I guess so. Well, it was a good try. No, no it wasn't. Help me with my coat Mr. Clover. In the minutes before dawn Broadway lies huddled in a dreamless sleep. It's the time of the long black night and all stars and the muted wind and on the wind the sly whispers. Start running or you'll never get home again. It's Broadway. The godliest. The most violent. The lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway. Broadway's My Beat. Broadway's My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover with Charles Calvert as Tartaglia and Jack Crushen as Muggerman. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Charlotte Lawrence was heard as Joan and high ever back as Tommy. Featured in the cast were Anthony Barrett, Lou Merrill and Joe Granby. Bill Anders speaking. Makes no sense, don't we? Broadway is my beat, as come to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States Armed Forces radio and television service.
