["Dio e Zingaro"] Broadway's My Beat from Times Square to Columbus Circle. The gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. ["Dio e Zingaro"] Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Grover. ["Dio e Zingaro"] They squeeze the Christmas carol through sequined loudspeakers on Broadway to get all the happy out. And the crowd walks in holiday cadence, conditioned by age, measurements, and the size of the pocketbook. And it's all there in the shop windows. Mechanical clown, thin man dancing a jig on a tin box. And boy army, precisely to scale, mechanized, some with parkas and skis for the difficult terrain over the raw cotton battlefront. And eyes are bright with hope and desire, and the wish made on a neon star. ["Dio e Zingaro"] But in the place where I was, holidays coming is marked only by the rise of empty liquor bottles in trash cans. Alley off of Third Avenue, and this winter's late night marked by horn of moon stuck through clump of cloud. And this, a boy lying unconscious, a Detective Muggerman. Name's James Barton, Danny. Here, his wallet. Lots of identification here. Address lives on East 58th, 1212. Hold your flash over here, Muggerman. Nineteen years old. Whoever did it to him was pretty systematic, Danny. Worked him over real good. Who reported it? Officer Palm called it in walking his beat. Danny. Yeah? Christmas season, a kid 19, beaten in an alley. What's on your mind, Muggerman? Well, whoever did it wasn't a mugger. The kid's got maybe 60 bucks in his wallet. He wasn't beaten for money. What happens when a kid this age gets dragged into a sewer like this and worked over? Nice looking boy, why is that? Yeah. Sure. Ambulance ought to be here in a second, Danny. Think the kid'll live? Boy, it's cold. ["Dio e Zingaro"] Scene, the winter-spilled city and chill splay of wavering, reflective night lights. And a boy's part of it, beaten, flung against alley litter. Skyward, the fleet curve and fall of a December star. The sounds of night fury are muted now in the soft keening and whirl of river winds. And not too distant, clack of a woman's heels on pavement. Slow walking. Then running. Then lost in a sudden cry of wind. ["Dio e Zingaro"] And violence is called for, laid gently on the stretcher. Received into drifting night, carried away. So leave there. ["Dio e Zingaro"] The furnished room, the remnants of sleep, the half dream. And in the morning, they call the headquarters, the report on the boy. Jimmy Barton's still in shock. You'll be notified when it's all right to talk to him. So go to a place, the boy's address on East 58th. Show a badge, get a door open, walk in. And Jimmy Barton's apartment is early December sunlight on ceramic vases of cut flowers. His bed, neatly folded down and arranged for sleep. Is this a basket of fruit? An open box of candy on nightstand. Another unopened and shelf below. And in bureau drawers, knitted things. Heavy woolen sweater complete with design of stag with antlers. Woolen socks, argyle, arranged neatly as the pattern and color. Shirts, monograms, handkerchiefs, linens, hand rolls. Naughty. Terribly naughty what you're doing. What? Jimmy's such a neat type. He'll have a spell when I tell him a thief must up his things. A child of flip. Who are you? A girl who leans against doorways, languidly, like this. And chats brightly with thieves. Don't you tell? I'm from police. I, uh, also chat brightly with policemen. Try me. Who are you? This girl across the hall type. Will stick my nose into any of my neighbor's affairs, lately mostly Jimmy. My name is Ina Small. And the German fellows, kick I was once on, used to call me Ina Kleiner, like a knight in the... Cute, huh? How long have you known Jimmy? Long enough to be concerned about the child. Jimmy did a prank, which you must consider the boy's night team. We found him in an alley last night, beaten, unconscious. It'll take me a minute to get out of this. How shall I dress to call on Jimmy, policeman? Black? He's badly hurt. We don't know for a while. Tell me how long you've known him. He moved into this apartment maybe five months ago, July. I was neighborly. I brought him bread and salt for his new home. He lives here alone? No, alone and across the hall, me. His clothes, his things, they're nice, expensive looking. Well, he's a nice boy. He deserves expensive things. Know where he works? Where? Jimmy, where? Not everyone my time. Other times I wouldn't know. Anything else you can tell me about him, like who hated him enough to beat him up like that? Jimmy was hurt before, you know. I didn't know. Yeah, some automobile accident in March, I think he told me. Something to his leg. So while we had to sit out dancing. Look, if Jimmy's dying, I want to be there. He won't... We'll let you know, Miss Small. Thank you. Thank you. Nichols? Officer Nichols? There's a bench to rest your troubles on, lad, Obi. Oh, you, Danny Lad. By the name of the Lieutenant, you're beautiful and you, Danny? Okay. There's something you ought to know, Danny Lad. What? There was a debate here amongst the boys in record should we put lieutenants with their pay and all on our Christmas list. It was touch and go, I can tell you. Also, I took the affirmative side of the bitter controversy. Thanks. I thought it was something you'd want to remember. Now, what else can I do for you, Danny Lad? A report on an automobile accident last March involved a boy named James Barton. Barton, last March of an automobile. Anything you want, Lieutenant. Just as you said, Lieutenant. Let me see it, huh? Accident, intersection, 93rd and Lexington, 1.29 a.m., 8th March, 1951. James Barton, 19, hit by club coupé, compound fracture of both legs, possible internal injuries, coupé driven by a Charles Roussen of 1840, 60, 62. Is this the one you want to look at, Lieutenant? All right, Nichols, I'll take it with me. Anything you want, Lieutenant Lad. Hello? Mrs. Ralston? I'm from the police. My name's Clover. Yes? May we talk inside? If you believe we should, of course. Please come in. Thanks. Now, what is it? Got a boy named James Barton. Oh, please. What? I just refuse to talk about it anymore. Oh? For months after it happened, newspaper reporters, insurance adjusters, traffic safety engineers, now you. Now there's a difference. James Barton's been hurt all over again. Well, what do you want me to do? I don't want you to do anything, Mrs. Ralston. Boy's been hurt, we're trying to find out why. The way we do things like this is to... Take up the edge of his life and hunt for clues. I know, I know. I'm glad you do. Let's get on with it, huh? As if you already don't know. All I'm asking you is your version of that expert. My husband and I were coming home from the evening. My husband was driving slowly but fast enough to break that boy's legs when he stepped in front of our car. We took him to a hospital, he admitted that he was at fault, and absolved us. I haven't heard from him since. Now what? How about your husband? What about him? Do you know whether he's seen or heard from James Barton since the accident? Well, let's call him at work and find out, shall we? Never mind, I can come back to it. No, no, no, let's call him. Let's get rid of that boy's name around here once and for all. Charles? No, no, I'm all right. Listen, Charles, there's a policeman here. About that boy James Barton again. Well, he's had another accident or something. Anyhow, the policeman wants to know whether you've seen or heard from that boy since. That's what I told him. Yes, well, goodbye honey. See you tonight. Huh? All right. Well, does that answer your question, Mr. Clover? All right, thanks a lot, Mr. Charleston. I'm back to headquarters now, through the time when afternoon stands still for two hours. And when you get to where you're going, it's suddenly dark. I'm to the office for the details and paperwork and the cigarette on the edge of the desk. Coffee sent out for and drank, reports to make, and the quiet policeman talk at day's end. Latest report from the hospital, Danny. James Barton might not die. Uh, Danny. Yeah? All that loot in that kid's room. What do you mean, his clothes? Such expensive stuff, and as far as we can find out, the kid didn't have a job. That makes it loot. Thanks, Muggerman, now I know him. You think maybe the kid's a thief? A young hoodl- Danny! Here, report just came in, communication. Thanks, do you know? Charles Rolston, I know. Who? The man who was driving the car that ran into the Barton boy last March, Charles Rolston. Where about him? Around the corner from his office in the alley. That's where he was just found, shot to death. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin, and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Klover. Until December wins, the year moves swiftly to the place of its dying, and Broadway arranges its emotions for the occasion. On Translux, the current emotion, suitable for Christmas past, Christmas present, Christmas future. And this, in high places, strategies are being shaped so that Santa will not bypass the boys. And Broadway walks by, glances up, hurries to buy the last-minute gift for the last-minute girl. The time is short, kid, think fast. There must be something no one else has thought to give her. And at headquarters, new winter day, the patter of tired feet, the sound of manly giggles as ribbon packages are stashed away in lockers. In my office, Sergeant Geno Tataglia with a suggestion for the holiday season. Take off your shoes, Danny. Don't fight me in this, Danny. Simply do as I say. One shoe off will be sufficient, if modesty insists. I have tape measured ahead. What is this, Geno? Please, Geno, tell me. My eldest, Christina Tataglia. She made me promise I would get your foot size unbeknownst to you. I chose this method. Tell Christina size 11 and a half, Geno. I know, I know, Danny, but we must take into consideration the Christmas present my eldest is knitting for you is a pair of space socks. Space socks? Therefore, in revealing to her your size foot, I must also take into consideration the layer of air which must be knitted in to offset the forces of cosmic energies with their nutrients and protons. Geno. Such were the instructions I received from Space Cadetus 3ZXL Tataglia. Danny, I must... Later, huh, Geno? Well, if you wish to fork the progress of the scientific mind, well, to work, shall we, Danny? You may measure me, Geno, but later, huh? Perhaps later. Now, to work. In the matter of Charles Walton, deceased of a.38 caliber bullet in an alley back of his office, these items and sundry investigations to wit. Go on, Geno. That he was a man respected in his line of business machine tools. That his bank account was commensurate with his type income, neither too large nor too small, but tidy. That his life insurance was placed with the firm Adler Insurance Brokers on Madison. That he... Danny Clover speaking. Muggleman, Danny, two things. Just got work in the hospital. The kid Jimmy Barton's fine. He's setting up. And the other thing, that girl, fine as small, you know, lives across the hall from Jimmy... Geno, what about her? She's down at the emergency hospital visiting the beat-up boy. I thought maybe... Yeah, right away. Anything else, Geno? Nothing. I'm finished. I may go now. Well, don't pout, Geno. I'll be back and you can measure my foot. We shall see what we shall see. Don't forget your muffler, lieutenant. Just let me set this pillow a second. There we are. Now you just lie back, Geno. Your boy looks boyish, doesn't he, Mr. Clover? How do you feel, Jimmy? Don't take your fingers away from my cheek, Anna. Real good. That's how I feel, Clover. Who beat you up? Well, don't you make him think of it. Pleasant thoughts is what my Jimmy needs. Yeah. Who beat you up? I'd better tell him, honey. Then you go away. I guess. I don't know who beat me up. I was attacked from behind. I never saw. Poor Jimmy. It was awful. You remember a man named Charles Ralston, Jimmy? Sure. What about him? Once he hit me with a car, it was my fault. Wet night all over, I stumbled into his car. What are you building? Since the accident. Have you seen him? No. Did you know Mr. Ralston was dead? Dead? Last night he was murdered. What about it, Jimmy? I know. Yeah, baby? Peel me one of those oranges you brought. Sure, honey. Mr. Ralston murdered him. And you beat him up. And once the two of us had an accident together. Now look at us. That's what I mean, Jimmy. Another thing. What do you do for a living? Well, he saw the pretty stuff in your room, baby. Don't worry about me, Clover. How long has it been since you've had a job? Well, since that car accident last March. Used to work in a filling station before that. Now I can't face it. Here, Jimmy. Thanks, baby. I really need an orange or something. This fellow's upsetting me terribly. The girl twirls his hand gently through the boy's hair, bites her lips, muses over his problem, then comes up with a solution. The box of candy she had brought opens it, makes a decision, bites into it, takes the orange out of his hands, feeds the candy to the boy. You're a blast, honey. Believe the happy convalescence. And into December Street, walk it. And against background of wind-fraid tinsel, wind-fraid crowd, pose the violence. The murdered man, Charles Ralston, a man who in March of last year had run down a boy, boy Jimmy Barton, who used to work at a filling station but couldn't face the thought anymore. A 19-year-old boy with nice apartments, expensive things to wear, to touch. Boy found beaten and $60 in his pocket. Boy with girl, Ina, boy without job, run down nine months ago by Charles Ralston, beaten two nights ago, assailant unknown, and enjoying every minute of it. So go now to a place to ask a question. Adler, insurance brokers in Madison. Mr. Adler is highly pleased to meet you, and won't you have a seat? His face will only take another minute. These savers, electric and all, a-boom, a-boom, Mr. Clover, to the male civilization. I must relay to the runnington people my thoughts on this, have you? Here, see this. Come on over here and see him like he's... Look, Mr. Adler, I didn't move. Move, I can tell you. When I get through with her, Mrs. Crumman will tell you the same thing I did. What? Adler Crumman, our newest widow. Husband tripped in the shower bath this morning, died on the way to the hospital. That's why I'm pimping my face. I'm on my way right now to tell Adler, poor Mrs. Crumman, husband's insurance all hers. It'll perk her up. Oh, well. That's face forward to newly rich widows, huh, Mr. Clover? You're through now? Mmm, just like a baby. Yeah. What's your problem, Mr. Clover? Charles Ralston. Fine fellow. Murdered, I read. You want to check on his insurance, huh? See, I'm way ahead of you. All right, tell me. Well, my opinion is you should mark up another trillion, Mr. Clover. All Ralston carried was 10,000. 20-year life. These days, 10 grand is hardly worth coming for, is it? Money, taxes, court costs, et cetera, et cetera. His wife was a beneficiary? Why are you saying about that? Tell me. A year ago she wasn't. Four months ago she wasn't. Now she is. Go on. The Ralston's had a boy, 18, Charles Jr. He was a beneficiary. A year ago it happened to him in Korea. Right away, Mr. Ralston wanted to change the beneficiary to his wife. She wouldn't hear of it. She said keep it for his son. Why? Mothers in my business do that sometimes. They don't believe their boys are really killed and they're just lost, not dead. Three months ago, Mrs. Ralston came around to the War Department's way of thinking and the husband. So she let her husband make her beneficiary. Ralston carry accident insurance, liability? Oh, you mean about when he ran down the kid James Barton? That's right. Yeah, he carried. We didn't pay a red cent. Mrs. Ralston wanted us to pay, but I outlined to her how the boy swore up and down it was his fault. So she was just being foolish. It didn't really penetrate them. No? No. I knew she paid off all the boy's hospital bills, sent him books, California food, things like that. Hey, look, Mr. Culver, if you knew how anxious the widow gets, she hates to be kept away. Yeah, you told me. Have fun, Mr. Adler. Dr. Kaspinski? Come in, Danny, come in. I have a chair. What can I do for you this evening? How long has it been since you were at the hospital to see Jimmy Barton? Five this afternoon. He told me you were in this morning. He said you upset him. Upset him? I have a theory about that boy. What? Someone could beat him over the head with a baseball bat and he would become unconscious. But as far as beating him over the emotions, he would only grin at you. The layman phrase for it is tough cookie. A real hard boy, Danny. How badly was he hurt? Contusion. A bruise. He'll be released tomorrow. Could it be done tonight? I think so. Well, think about it right now, doctor, and tell me. All right, I'll release him. Good. Use your phone, doctor. All right. Have a good dinner. Welcome, hall. Done. Up you go. Thank you. иться obtenido. Thank you, doctor. Kiwi, Brian, appoint me Mr. Morris. No, please. That'll be Estpsh automatically released by the emergency hospital. The ace along the mile. appro Yang will increase畫온 Not found B timer. Right now. It's packed already, man. Dan Beter Now that last hot会 Oh, what's that supposed to think about Us seventy three sq'l What would that have been? ete So the word was warm, the office, to look through a window out on the word was cold. Cities seen through beads of moisture, crowds fleeing to a thousand places, winter lights that speckle winter sky with colors and pleasing shapes, winter building gray and stark, all of it framed in a patina of wet. Look at it, wait for it, wait, and it happens. Hey Clover, you can come out now Danny, the ladies apartment. Be right there. Over here Danny. Kid left the hospital, made a phone call, came out over here. Hello. Hello Mrs. Ralston, might I ever come in? Yes I do. Oh that's too bad, we want to tell Jimmy how glad we are he's up and about your apartment. What are you talking about? You got another way of saying it Danny? Just let's go inside Mrs. Ralston. Who was it Claire? The men, they're here, please. Hi fellas, make yourself at home. How you feel Jimmy? Claire says I look awful. He does. Claire was going to make me a poultice. Isn't that what you thought Claire, a poultice? Mr. Clover. Yeah? He's been through so much. Yeah we were worried. That's right Jimmy, worried why a 19 year old boy gets beaten up, lands in a hospital. Civilization for you isn't it? What are you doing here Jimmy? I'm going to tell you something, I really don't know. Honest. Jimmy. Honest Claire, I got out of the hospital and I figured it was what you'd like me to do. Call you and come over here. But I got to tell you too. I don't know why. The presents Jimmy, the monogrammed shirts, the knitted sweaters. I think part of it, not all. Jimmy, I think you better go home. Why? Just go. Stick around son. Why do you want me to go home Claire? Boy. She doesn't want you to be hurt. I'm not going to be hurt, that's all over. You want to tell us who beat you up now? Keeps eating you guys don't it? Not especially Jimmy, we know. Well huh? Listen you two. It's got to end now Mrs. Ralph, you can't protect him anymore. And it started ending when your husband beat him up. Claire. What? They figured it out themselves, I didn't tell them. That's what worries us son. A kid gets beaten up by an older man, normal procedures to come running. Why didn't you? It would have spoiled a good thing. What are you talking about? I'm old enough to be. His mother. Hmm. His mother. Is that what it is Claire? His mother. Substitute this boy for your son who was killed in Korea. What is this? You lied to us Jimmy when you said you hadn't seen the Ralphsons after you walked into their car. After all, well I figured I owe this lady something. This lady? This lady? You got a blast giving me presents, taking care of me. Why shouldn't I do something you ask me? Like lie to cops. Even when it had murder in it. I didn't kill anybody. She did. I still got presents. And that's all that counted? Sure. Well I'll just see what happens Jimmy. All I know is Claire gave me an allowance that made her happy. But not her husband. He got sick of it. He beat you up, told you to stay away. Claire. What Jimmy? Is that what you wanted? To be my mother? Yes. That's a fresh one. Jimmy. Are you sorry for me? What happens to that insurance you're supposed to get now? You think you'll get it? Knocking over Mr. Rawson and me? I could sure you will. Jimmy. I just thought I'd ask. Forget it. It's quiet now on Broadway. The hour without color. The six o'clock hour. The time of going home. But in a while the night will dip down and touch the street. And there'll be fury again. Rack and roar. And growl. The puppet dance into the furnace of light. It's Broadway. The gaudiest. The most violent. The loneliest smile in the world. Broadway. My Beats. Broadway's My Beats stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover, with Charles Calvert as Tartaglia, and Jack Crouchin as Muggerman. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. The musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Paula Winslow was heard as Claire Ralston, and Sam Edwards as Jimmy Barton. Featured in the cast were Alvina Temple, Steve Dunn, and Tom Holland. Bill Anders speaking. Music
