["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Broadway's My Beat from Times Square to Columbus Circle. The gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] The night that begins to curtain Broadway in late November is a thing of gauze, gray stuff that touches autumn to December, and the moon pox the shadows with a frosty light. The time of the three-coffee dinner, of the sweater in the vest under the coat. But the plucked birds hang high, and there, stalks of corn and wheat, and in shop windows, tableaux of settlers and friendly redskins biting dusty pumpkins. Holiday time. Everywhere, everybody will be eating turkey, it says. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] And uptown, far uptown where I was, only night wind and the near pattern of campus lights in back of the Student Union Building, and Detective Muggerman and the woman dead. May Watchman was making his rounds, caught her in his flash, phoned it in. Identification? Yeah, handbag. Here. Yeah. Grace, colon, nineteen. This is it, says he. Yeah, thank you very much. Ninety, north, three, west, a hundred and sixty. That check with your observations, Muggerman? Okay, okay. Mm, shot from up close. She looks a little oldish, huh? Oldish for what? Well, college campus, nighttime. Still, kind of pretty. About thirty-seven to forty, I'd say. Wow. Yeah. You stick around for technical, Muggerman. See you later. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Who is it? What do you want? Police. Open up. The length of the latch chain in the tip of my nose through the slit. As far as I get with late dates. Show me you're a policeman. Yeah, see. You're dealing with a sleepy child, and I'd better turn the porch light on, so I'll know it's not just a recurrent dream. Hmm. True badge. And you've waken me, and you've proven your point. What next, policeman? It's about Mrs. Grace Cullen. She... Normally, other nights, Grace would have opened the door to you. But as Grace is not at home, and she's heaven knows where... She's dead. Murdered. That did it. I'm awake now. You can come in. I'll turn the lights on in the parlor. Where Grace and I receive our dates. You're going to come in and tell me about her, or are you just going to stand there in the hall? You're related to Mrs. Cullen. Oh, that's it. You thought I was her daughter, or something like that, now. No tie of blood between Grace and me. Then... Grace ran an ad in the college paper. Roman board for girl student in return for lighthouse keeping. Look on my second-cupit. You can try for dust anywhere you choose. Maureen Hill, sophomore in lighthouse keeping. Now, what's this about Grace? We found her on the campus a little while ago. Grace is a widow. Oh? She's 41. A widow 12 years. She told me she was 37. I scatted around. I found out she was 41. Look, uh... Anyway you look at it, she's a widow. I know. You told me. And there was a rapport between her and football players. She understood their sorrows and problems. Observe the footballs lining the mantel. Do you have a date with one of them tonight? Boy was here earlier tonight. Left end type boy. His eyes were glazy and his manner was hazy. Big game today and we lost and the boy was drunk and came calling. Who was the boy? Left end, weight 197, 6'3". Like a swift dream on the playing field and in the headlines his name was Lloyd Keeler. He was here for a while and he went away. And after that? After that I wouldn't know. I said good night to Grace. It curled up in my downy. Reminds me it's where I should be now. Nighty night, policeman. So leave there. And outside the streets have given up to midnight. Stone facades against darkness. Folded doors. And only here and there the pencil line of light beneath drawn shades. Section of city asleep. Properly, respectively. So home now. Not your own. Two key type. One key for the front door, the other for the rented room and bath and kitchenette. And sleep the rented sleep. And morning, new day, so get ready for it. Then call headquarters and give your route for the day. Ride uptown, the college, inquire at the registrar. Get the name and address of the fraternity house of Lloyd Keeler. Go there. The boy who answers the door for you is disappointed you're not an old grad or something. Thus leaving empty his handshake of curled little finger and vertical thumb. But his answers are bright and quick. Lloyd Keeler is not there. Wasn't in last night. Haven't seen him. Don't know where he is. Tried the gym he offers. Coach? Red Price? Old Red? I don't know. Any time at all he leaves you with, fella. So across the campus, the sad sunny paths of branch shadows and young people. And into the coach's office. And Old Red looks just like his pictures in the paper. Except no hair. That was neat. Thanks. You there? No, no thanks. You know, I think the Cougars are too deep down the center of the line for us. If it rains, we're dead. What with our stellar tailback, prebic temporarily on the sideline with a fracture. I'm a policeman, not a reporter. Oh. I'm trying to locate Lloyd Keeler. He do something with a bucket of red paint in town. For questioning about murder. Where do I find him? Murder? Well, well I wouldn't know offhand where the lad is. Right to the three. Maybe then. Tell me something about him. Caught two TD passes last week. What else about Lloyd? Shifty in the clear. 197 and shifty. Word of scampers. Good day for the college when he entered our ranks. Scholarship? Sponsored. Which means what? Being paid for. Remember Don Davy? Nope. Don Davy, brick house Don. Also an end. Played here in 32. Blocked Tex Field goal try for the league championship. Smothered it. You remember. Sure you do. Don Davy, huh? Local? Sure. Park Avenue. Look him up. Hey, uh, bet the phone do. No thanks. Thanks a lot. It's a brutish thing. Rather a mess, isn't it? At least that's how I feel about it. That woman, woman of middle age, found like that on a college campus and a boy of 20. Sort it. Not pretty. That's how it happens, Mrs. Davy. Doesn't it though? One thing I'll never understand. What? I've read of such things in newspapers. I, uh, I buy sordid little paperback books, read myself asleep with such things. But I never thought I would walk into my home and breathe so close. That boy mixed up in it, Lloyd Keeler. I was told your husband is sending him through college. Is that our guilt, Mr. Clover? That we were nice to an athlete? Where is your husband? In his study. It's where he retreats after lunch, charts, football plays. I hardly think it worthwhile disturbing him. I do. Disturb him, Mrs. Davy. And then you'll be nice and go away. And we can write this thing off. Get him. Oh, Don. Donnie. How many times, Claire? How many times does it take to get through this? Don't scold, dear. I have a terrific reason. There's a policeman in our home. Oh, tell him. I can't do that, dear, because he's brought us a murder. Coming, dear? My husband, Mr. Clover. And he's irritated and angry because you've included on what play this time, dear? 54? Play 54? Claire said murder. You must have read about it. She was found on the campus of your college. The woman was Mrs. Grace Cullen. Twenty years ago when I was big on the college team, I knew of Grace Cullen. Don't tell me this is the same one. I'll get sad. Real sad how the year stands still. Maybe she's the same one. But this year she's been going up with a boy named Lloyd Keeler. The year sure stands still, Hunter. Do you know where Lloyd is? Well, Don had him pledged to Don's paternity. Why don't you try there, Mr. Clover? He's not there. Do you have any other ideas? Oh, we do sponsor him. That doesn't make Claire his mother. Doesn't make me his father. And you don't know, is that it? When I was a lad, I sometimes broke training and nobody could ever find me either. Sometimes for days. That's the way it was, when I was a kid. And leave there, at the four o'clock lunch, blue plate special of pre-holiday drumstick and paper cup of coleslaw, smaller one of cranberries, and coffee that looks yellow under the overhead light. Ride through afternoon streets festooned with flat mufflers and red mittens. Turn left where the Doberman in a hip length knitted overcoat breathes steam up with a maiden in coat to match. Crowd dwindles. Then a right turn, headquarters. Down the corridor lined with bulletin boards and tips on courtesy. Don't quite make your office. Hey, Danny. I tried to get in touch with you at the Davies you just left. What's the matter? Where you been? I got hungry, Muggum, and I ate, you mind? Well, just listen, will you? Sure. What's the... That kid that end on the college football team, Lloyd Keeler? What about him? In the morgue. What? Son of an anally shot to death, murdered Danny. You're lucky you had time to eat. I haven't. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Early afternoon and late November touches Broadway's cheeks softly now, whispers the traceries of winter. One chrome will be veiled the frost, also windows, also the lips of women, and the autumn memories barren, leafless, stripped. But there are minutes left in the autumn twilight, so breathe them deep, walk them slow. There's still time before neon and the long night, there's sunset, the flame of autumn color on the concrete slabs. There's the twilight passage of the twilight women, and fury is not yet. Only this, the dying of November. And at headquarters, the awe and the wonder of the man, Sergeant Geno Tertaglia. Danny, you haven't been listening. I'm sorry, you know, I was just- Wool gathering is the phrase that comes willy-nilly to my mind. I'm sorry, what were you saying? I was merely relating to you the far-flung exploits of one Mike Shrek, who just happens, just happens to be the miracle detective from Pittsburgh, PA, when your attention walked out on me. The last time you told me about him, he lived in Philadelphia. Cleaned up, Philly. Now graces the avenues and citadels of Pittsburgh, PA, and a good thing too. It was in the smog there that he fell upon plastic memory. Huh? What was that, Geno? I'll explain to you. The weapon that did him Daphne Fenster backstage at Carnegie Hall, which was found lying beside her, was thought at first to be merely a bloody shoehorn. Geno. After dusting the fingerprints on the murder weapon, Mike, with his customary genius, plunged the shoehorn into a pot of boiling water, which never leaves his sight. He did what? And in a few minutes, there, clutched in his blistered fist, instead of a shoehorn, a plastic dagger. Plastic memory, Danny. I'll explain to you. It is the custom of plastic to return to its original shape- You through, Geno? Oh, I wished only to clarify for you. Yeah, I'm through, Danny. And that's all you have for me, huh? No, I have other items. You'll tell me, huh? Of course, without saying. From the medical examiner, Dr. Sinsge, this report which states that Lloyd Keeler, late of college football, was shot and wounded fatally, perhaps an hour after the death of Mrs. Grace Cullen. I place it on your desk. What other paper in your hand, Geno? A P.S. to the report from Detective Muggerman, stating that the murdered boy was found in the alley back of the home of the college with old Mrs. Grace Cullen. I place it on your desk. And these elderly college girls, Danny. All right, you know, you can go now. If such is your pleasure, Lieutenant. You must admit one thing, though, Danny. What? That in the case of Daphne Fenster, Mike Shrek merits an orchid. Good evening, Danny. So consider now the elements. Set them down on paper, neat. Crisscross lines from names to events. Switch the swivel chair. Look out the window. Attitude for thinking. But somehow the swift curve of newspaper page wind trap blowing down the street intrudes. And the race between pedestrian and taxi, and the winner's gesture, and the first dart of light through the beginning evening's dark. Leave it. Turn back to the desk. Items to be thought about. A woman murdered. Woman friend of the college for 20 years. A football player murdered in back of her house. A football player, a boy whose talents were subsidized by an old grad. Old grad, erstwhile hero. Old grad, man who should be talked to some more. Squad car again, and ride through evening streets. Park Avenue. Park the car. Evening. Hello. What is it? Well, you remember me, don't you, Mr. Davie? I remember you. What is it? More questions. Mind if I come in? Want to talk to my wife again? Your wife, too. She's not in. She's being fed. Unhappy for her. Now, you want to talk inside your place or inside mine? Fellow, fellow, come in. Come in by all means. Thanks. In here, my Dan. Please have a seat. Thanks. I'd rather... A lot of trophies. Yeah, yeah, quite a few. Were you an All-American, Mr. Davie? Don. Who were you, Don? One sports editor in Baltimore, two more in the middle west, named me. Mostly second string All-American. See, you've got your old jersey. Yeah. I'm wearing this watch. You can... Here. I'll take it all. No, no, no. No trouble. Here. Look at the bag. The greatest kick blocker of them all. Fellas gave me that after the last game with Tick. You must have heard at the time, I said to myself, it's up to you, Don. Boy, we've got to win this game. We've got to block this kick. And I did. I tore through the secondary. Let's talk about Lloyd Keeler, huh? Glad to, fella. I scouted him myself. He was playing for City High. I called at his house, offered to send him to college. He accepted. Great boy. Lots of promise. When he loses that habit of his of rubbing his hands together sometimes before an interround... He'll be dead. Didn't you know that? Didn't you see the papers? No. No, I didn't. Mark? Why? That's what I'm trying to... Who? Who murdered? You. That lawyer. Where were you last night, Don? Boozing? Huh? You got a law that says no, fella, to sit with a friend and remember? To drink to it? What friend? Played with me three years, first string, just like I was. Right beside me, tackle. I know that is, don't you? No. Johnny Harris, fella. Who else? Ask him. Old Johnny's got a business now, so it's easy to find. The appliance store in Lexington. Ask him, why don't you, fella? I'm just about to close up, mister, but you're welcome to browse around. Find any item that hits you, just yell out. You're Johnny Harris? That's it. So you don't have to worry about a salesman's commission. I'm all there is. You find what hits you. I'm always willing to talk business. I've got this fine stock electric floor waxes by Hoover. Be glad to demonstrate. I run the police. And I'm in electric appliances, so we two have got what to hold our friends about, huh, mister? Nothing to hide, huh, you, me? I just left Don Davey. Don? He show you his gold watch from after the tech game? Huh? It was me who got the boys to buy it for him. I didn't have fat on me then like I got now. You've stayed friends with him since college? Yeah, yeah, let's call it that. Don was a likable boy, never quite made man. But then you could say he was up against tough opposition. Like what? You meet his wife? You get to meet Claire Davey? What about her? You said you were with Don a little while ago. Don, second string all-American boy preserved in wax. That's what about his wife, Claire Davey? I don't understand. I don't blame you. It's hard to. The way I figured it's like this. Claire's a rich girl. She's brought herself a one-play hero, a second stringer who once won a Saturday afternoon. She'll never let him go. That's why she, uh... Indulges him? Yeah, he spots her. He's got a marriage scholarship. She pays the bills, he works out football plays. Funny thing about him, whenever things get rough, he tucks the pigskin under his arm and runs up and down the football field. It's funny. Tell me why I should spill like this to you. Two killings. Grace Cullen, Lloyd Keeler. And you came right from Donnie to me. That's right. I read in the paper about him. About Mrs. Cullen, I haven't gathered any feeling yet. About the kid, about Lloyd. What about him? Sorry for him. Sorry for Don. Why for Don? Yeah, I'm not big with words, mister. All I can tell you is lately Don's whole life was wrapped around that football kid. All he ever talks about now. Don't even boo so much anymore. I don't know what it is, the kid meant something real deep to Don. Maybe in the boy he saw himself when he was a kid. Maybe he thought he could make a man out of the kid the kind of man Don never was. I don't know, I ain't that deep. Not that, huh? I told you, I don't know, I ain't that deep. Don said he was with you last night. He did? He said he sat with you and drank and remembered. He said all that, huh? Well, boy, excuse me, mister. Johnny Harris speaking. Oh, yeah, yeah, I'll pay attention. No, no play kid. Yeah, I remember. Yeah, it was very glorious how we trimmed tech, but that was 20 years ago. Now you listen to me. Before when you called I was ready to run along with a gag because we're college chums, because I feel sorry for you sometimes because it happens to a guy. Uh-uh. Not now, kid. No play. You heard? Uh-huh. That was Donnie, boy. About last night, mister. What? I didn't sit with Don. I didn't drink with him. I didn't remember with him. I was to a movie with my wife. I paid for the tickets. Thanks, mister Harris. Bad for Don. You know where to find him. Music 63, 47, 34, hang! Danny? Yeah. Nuts, huh? Must have been kicked in the head. Look, look there. Markovan over there. In the stands. Oh, yeah. Good evening. This is Detective Markovan, Mrs. Davy. You cold sitting up here, Mrs. Davy? Gentlemen care for a drink? There's still some in the thermos bottle. Gin? Why, yes. Help yourself. No, thanks, C. Don't care for any. Please sit down. Mrs. Davy. First I want to tell you this. When Don comes off the field, tell him he was very good. Tell him better than ever. You kidding? Sure we will. You were about to ask me, Mr. Clover? About all that's happened. Wave. Wave to him. He's looking. Thank you. 41, 37, 14, 96, hang! About all that's happened, Mrs. Davy. I... Lieutenant means about a couple murders, Mrs. Davy. A woman named Grace Cullen, a kid named Lloyd Giller. I know. Well... An explanation you need. Or a confession, Mrs. Davy, one or the other. Or both would be nice. You see... It's so difficult to tell you. Let me help you. You? About Don. What you did to him. I suppose you could say it that way. It's brutal, but it's true, I suppose. It's over now, isn't it? All of it? Yes. What you did to him, Mrs. Davy? Bought yourself a second string husband and wrapped him up and never let him go. 44, 35, 93, hang! Look at him. He's gotten old and fat and slow. On the only way out, he knew. Football players mapped out in his study. And this. What he's doing now. The old times when he was almost somebody. And then that kid came along, the football kid, Lloyd Giller. Yes. Then I lost my husband. Everything your husband knew he wasn't. He saw fulfilled in that boy. The old college try, the old try. The time when he most nearly became a man. You're so right. So you killed the boy. You see... It's been 20 years. And I've owned Donnie. And suddenly I didn't own him. That boy. Yes, I shot him. Grace Cullen, too. No. 86, 92, 14, 27, 28. I tell you that because if it's over for me, then it's over for Don. He got away for a little while. Now we'll both suffer for it. Then here's what. You shot Lloyd after he'd seen Grace. Ask him. Leave him alone. I don't think we need to ask him anything. Not now. Don came to see Grace, saw Lloyd walk out of there drunk. Don went for a walk with her. Then he killed her. Why? Can you tell me that? Don must have figured Lloyd lost the game on account of Grace. Hi. Oh, Don. Give me a drink, dear. Breaking training. You want a drink, dear? You ready to go with us, Don? I want to tell you something first. What? When I saw you come here, I knew who you were. When you waved, I knew Claire told you to. I was going to run, but I'm old and fat. I stopped being a hero 20 years ago. Claire? Yes? Turned out the way you wanted. What happened to me will happen to you. Happy day? It's the happy time on Broadway after the movie's time, and nobody wants to go home. It's a place strung against the night like a phosphorescent valley, and there heat there. Golden girl, bright-eyed kid, the man with the promises, the guy who believes him. It's Broadway. The gaudiest, the most violent, the most lonesome as a mile in the world. Broadway, My Beat. Broadway's My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover, with Charles Calford as Tartaglia, and Jack Crushen as Muggerman. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with music composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Paula Winslow was heard as Claire and Lou Merrill as Dawn Davy. Featured in the cast were Joyce McCluskey, Eddie Fields, and Tom Tully. Bill Anders speaking. Broadway is My Beat has come to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.
