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. March and the young winds of spring begin their reconnaissance of Broadway, the probing action for places to set up shop, a push cart of the flower vendor, for instance, whose numbed fingers wrapped clusters of frost-burned buds in yesterday's newspaper, February's newspaper, and in stray of silken hair, side across a child's winter-worn face, and rippled through fur held close to a woman's throat and her tentative gesture of unclasping it. And somewhere in city, a small monkey dances, strains at a leash, hands a battered hat to an organ grinder, grins. So get with it, the spring dance is just around the corner. Early afternoon of March, from corridor of a rooming house where winter holds, into a room, the man staring into wall, hand clenched quite on a rocking chair, man in year-long winter room, rocking, staring, silent, and the detective who speaks for him. Just like that, Danny, man hasn't stopped, I've been here 20 minutes now and he hasn't stopped. I try to get through to him, nothing, he just rocks. I've been told it's all night now and this morning. Who told you that? A landlady, driving her out of her mind the way he is. The creek, the rocker makes through her sleep. She called in, said get him out of here, I'm going out of my mind, she said. Who is he? She said he was Harry Carson, rented this room for years, never had trouble before with him, she said. A sick man, a lost man, that's big trouble, huh Danny? Mr. Carson, what is it, what's wrong? Mr. Carson. Me too, I try the magic words. Mr. Carson don't care, Mr. Carson don't talk. This he had though, this 38 caliber revolver that was shoved in his belt. He didn't bat an eye when I reached over and took it away from him. Here, take a look, have a smell. It's been fired. It's been fired. Found a couple other things while me and Mr. Carson tried to chat, didn't have what else to do. You found what? Not much, a couple of snapshots. This one of Mr. Carson with a kid, a boy, western type scenery in the background, the fence they're leaning against, like from a ranch. Carson looks younger, happier, huh Danny? The other one you got? Another pose of Carson, older. First time with his arm around a young fellow. Happens I know this young fellow, Danny. You get around. Yeah, I do. About a year ago, ran into this young fellow in the courts a couple of times, eager lawyer type. Robert, call me Bob fellow, Carson, eager bright boy. Caught the eyes of corporation fellows I hear. Boy on his way up, and this man, Harry Carson. Mr. Carson, you want to tell us what, about the gun, about the boy? Say that again, bit doctor. Yeah, it'll be something I can do for him. And for a street noise from outside and two stories below, intrudes into the room and finds a place in the scatter and clutter of small despairs. And the focus of it, the man in the rocker, the man with the secret, hugged close, old man, strong face and sorrows, strong hands and knowledge locked away. And shuffling steps and Denison helps him to his feet and takes him away. Old man of secret and shock. Work to do, consult a phone book, address of lawyer, Robert, in parenthesis Bob, Carson. Car ride through afternoon city to park. And this, nod from livery doorman as he opens a polished brass door with a fist wrapped in a green gauntlet. Pencil directions to Mr. Carson's apartment on floor 12. Elevator ride surrounded by just audible and oiled silences. And carved carpet walk through expensively shallowed corridors. Yes? Mr. Carson? Yes. The desk phoned and said that Mr. Clover, a police officer, was on his way up. You're a... That's right. Please come in. I'll take you, coach. Oh, it's all right. Just be a minute. If my wife were here, she'd fix us up something. She's kind of a wizard. How about Harry Carson? About my father? We found him in his room, Mr. Carson. He'd been sitting for a day or so. My father? He had a gun tucked in his belt. It had been fired. He refuses to talk about it. What's the matter with him? He gone crazy or something? Senile or something? Let me ask you a question, Mr. Carson. Where is he now? Send a medical care. Police physician? Listen, I'll get him all the care... That has to do with the question. How come your father lives in such a squalid room and you... And I'm a real terrible son, huh? Big man on his way up and don't appreciate, dear old dad, forgot all about the sacrifices of the parents, that drivel. That's the answer? I take care of my father, Mr. Clover. I send him $150 a week each week of the year. He does with it what he likes. The fact that he doesn't live here with us is testimony to my wife's good judgment. The in-law problem. Don't let it start and it won't happen. A gun stuck in his belt, what for? Do you know? I figure an old man, how do I know? You at police hospital? That's right. You going back that way? I'll leave my wife a note. You can give me a lift. Why don't you turn on the light, Danny? Night's beginning to happen outside. Do you mind if I do it? No, I don't mind. I think I got some things for you. Yeah, I made a rundown on the bank. No account credit to Harry Carson. How is he, Danny? Dr. Sinsky called in a little while ago. Carson just stares. He hasn't changed. Go on. $100.50 a week from his son, call me Bob, and living in a room that's maybe eight bucks a week and all the rocking chair you can handle and all the nothing. $100.50 a week free, no strings, and to live like that. Where does it go, all that money, I ask myself. So? All right, so. I walked Carson's neighborhood. I came up with an answer and a reason maybe. You want to meet him? What are you talking about? He's waiting outside in the hall. I'll get him. Litchfield? Yeah, you. Come on in. Mr. Litchfield, Danny. Runs a small grocery down the street from where Carson lives. Danny Clover, Mr. Litchfield. Look, fellas, this is the best time in my store. This time of day, I shouldn't have come with you. I should be there, not here. Yeah, we understand, Mr. Litchfield. Just tell the lieutenant what you know about Harry Carson, and then you can go back. Well, what's with Harry? He done something? He steal? He rob? This man here comes into my place, asks questions, says Harry Carson. What do you know about him, Mr. Litchfield? What do I need to know about a man who trades in my place? I already told this man here. Now, tell the lieutenant too, Mr. Litchfield. Now, like I told this man here, once a week, Monday noon on the dot, Carson comes into my place. He hands me a check for $150 from his boy. I cash it for him. Keep 25 out, give him back the 100 and a quarter and change. Well, 25 you keep, and for what, Mr. Litchfield? For groceries, staples, canned goods, beer, fruit. Things to keep a lonely old man alive for a week. For Harry Carson, it comes to 25 a week on the dot. In advance, never runs over, never is less. It's the arrangement we made, Mr. Carson, on me a long time ago, and also on the dot, the other thing I told this man here. I'd like to know too, Mr. Litchfield. Like this. I get the 25 from Mr. Carson, give him back his change. 125 to the dot. He walks out of my place to the corner, hands over the change to a fellow waiting there. What fellow? Who knows, a fellow. Every week I notice this. First time by accident I see it, then I make a point to see it. And every week, Mr. Carson, the walk to the corner, the handing over of all that money to a fellow. Yes? I can't hear you, Danny. And a good evening to you. Also, a man just brought in to downstairs. I'm busy, Gino. A man shot with a.38 caliber revolver, Danny, dead on arrival. In a vacant lot, a block away from the rooming house of Harry Carson, behind a billboard. John Dole now in the morgue, Danny. I thought you'd... Thanks, Gino. Denison. Yeah. Get Carson. I'm sorry, Danny. 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. Get Carson. Bring him downstairs. Mr. Litchfield... Listen, fellas. I gave you all this time. We'll need a little more. Let's go, Mr. Litchfield. Downstairs now to the realm of the Echo, a corridor that sweats tears. Follow blue arrow painted on floor, turn right, avenue to the morgue. And the man beside you, a grocer suddenly turned chain smoker. Wake with him briefly. For the other footsteps, the other men, Detective Denison, the man he leads. This way, Mr. Carson. Okay, Danny. Hello, Mr. Carson. Has he said anything to anybody yet? Nope. Not a word. Not even to his son. Let's go in. Mr. Litchfield... I'm okay. I just want you to look at this man and tell me... Let's get it over, huh? Yeah. Yeah, that's him. That's the man who stands on the corner waiting for... George? What about... George? Danny? George? Death is very becoming to you, George. Yes. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin, and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. If you go for Western Adventure, you'll go for the Gene Autry show and for Gunsmoke, both later this evening on most of these same stations. Gene Autry brings you melodies as well as adventure in his colorful Western manner. Gunsmoke tells hard-hitting stories of a United States Marshal in frontier days, fighting for justice, battling the outlaws, helping move the nation's frontiers westward. CBS Radio presents them both later this evening. When the enormous night finds Broadway and takes it over, the sound is a thing compounded in machine and hiss and the gaudy laugh, and in between the clack of footsteps, dark whispers and the silent screams a heart makes. And when the month is March and the rains of beginning spring fall softly, night is partitioned. The crowd huddle tightly behind this facade or that, in this doorway, behind that window. So make a phone call, find a friend. The crowd is lonely. And above it, opposite headquarters, night through tracery of rain on windowpane, night caught in droplets of color that slip over glass and coalesce. Watch it. Be lulled by it. And the explosion is named Sergeant Gino Tartaglia. I warn you, Danny, never marry a Rigolini. What? Mrs. Tartaglia, a Rigolini by birth, and ask me about that. What's the matter, Gino? An argument with Mrs. T? Children of the soil, that's all they are? The whole family. Comes March and rain. Go buy seeds for the flower box. This hour I got to stop and find a place that sells seeds. Gino. Every year she plants with hand hole and prowl, nothing ever grows. Each year in June, I got to sneak marigolds into the flower box to make her think she's a green thumb like the rest of the Rigolini. You got something for me, Gino? Yeah. Don't marry a- Besides that. Oh. Medical report on the deceased identified as George Harvey. Dead on arrival approximately 36 hours. Go on. He lived in a nicely furnished apartment on West 38, but he is from Allen Springs originally. Where? This is a surmise we must make- Allen Springs? The one in Churchill County, Nevada, not the Allen Springs near Allentown. Go on, Gino. Newspapers in his room, the local Gazette. A bill of sale from a piece of property there, sold last year. Also various knickknacks as befit the room of those west of the Great Divine. Okay, okay. Also, initial questioning of his apartment manager revealed that his checking-in card said Allen Springs. Also, that he has lived at this address for the last year. Willy nilly. Willy nilly? Comes and goes. No set schedule. No visible means of support, and that's all I got for you, Danny. Thank you, Gino. Go buy seeds. The next morning, legwork against squalls of March wind crested with rain, and on brownstone and pavement the great stains where the chill wet has sunk deep, and a small boy lifting his head to it, taking the slap of it across his face. Legwork now in a street whispering winter's death, in the furled kites making stick shadows in the novelty shop display, in the face of a girl pressed against an upstairs window, and withdrawing behind fall of lace pattern when she sees you looking at her. Neighborhood street for the piecing together of attitudes and emotions and reflections on the life of a man who had lived in this street, and who was found dead in the winter weeds of a vacant lot not far away. Try his apartment house, and a neighbor, young woman, pale, drawn. Can't give you much time as she is sickly in the morning. George Harvey, dead, like I feel. What was to know about him, except my husband said to me, don't bother to talk to him, Celia. Don't give that George Harvey the time of day, and don't accept nothing you hear. I'm telling you for your own good, Celia. And other neighbors, just because they happen to live in the same place as the man now dead, just put in your little book, no comment, mister, no comment, period. Back into the street, try a shop. George Harvey, yes, he traded here. Good customer, paid off bills like clockwork. Not much to talk to, but a good payer, week to week, like clockwork. And another shop. Hello. Hello, is Mr. Carson in? He's in court today. Sorry. Just a minute. You'd like to see Mr. Carson? I'm from the police, Danny Clover. The gentleman who was here talking to Bob yesterday. That's right. Bob wouldn't want me to send you away, and I wouldn't. Come in. Thanks. I can phone Bob, try to, anyhow. If he's finished at court, he'll be having a cocktail. I'll call the bar. Maybe you'd better not bother. Well, I don't mind. It would be something to do. Oh. Well, make up your mind. A couple of questions. Sit down. Thanks. It's about the... Don't say something exciting, will you? Remark about me and let me giggle girlishly and wag a finger. Better see if you can get your husband on the phone, Mrs. Carson. Just anything. Throw an ashtray through a window and make some noise. Real tough just sitting here, huh? I thought you were the man from the drugs with the double solitaire deck. My neighbor next door comes in later for double solitaire. Go ahead. Go ahead. Your father-in-law, Harry Carson, he's in jail under suspicion of murder. You know that, don't you? Yes, she answered. On suspicion of murdering George Harvey, do you know why your father-in-law would murder George Harvey? No, she answered. Do you know whether your husband knew George Harvey? No, she answered. I'll come back. Wait, please wait. I'm sorry. Listen. Yes? I'm sorry about what's happening. I don't understand it. I'm apart from it, like everything else in my husband's life. And I'm rude and I... What about your father-in-law? I met him at the marriage four years ago. I haven't seen him since. My husband relied on him too much. Not good. I see. Stipulation of marriage. On your own two feet if you want me, Bob, she said. See and whatever my contacts can do for your career. Neither one of us mentioned my bank account. We just look at each other and smile and understand. I'm not what you call a beaut, am I? What else can you tell me? No. Of course I am. But the smart young lawyer married me. And look what happened. What? Two months ago, just call me Bob, big corporation lawyer. My contacts. His brains. Oh, that's the neighbor, the double solitaire. Her name's Mrs. Jackson and if you nod to her on your way out and smile, you'll be doing a very nice thing. Now, come on in, Danny. Sure offers. Share it with me. Thanks. You mind? Oh, not a bit. Here, sit down. Tell it to that came in about half hour ago from Nevada State Police. The fingerprint code we put on the wires yesterday. Harry Carson, the man with shocks. They got us that Nevada that matches Carson's to the world. Carson got a record? I'd call it a record. Look, uh... Easy, boy. Easy, Danny. It's a long, hard life. Yeah, court records. Nevada briefed it for us in the teleprompter. 1932, 21 years ago, a man, Harry Carson, was acquitted of the sudden death of his wife, Lola Carson. Go on. Seems he was cleaning a pistol. Out West they do that a lot. Harry Carson was cleaning this pistol and his wife walked in and it went off and she dropped down dead. Their kid, Robert, was there, saw it all. And the peers of Allen Springs, Nevada pronounced Harry not guilty. 21 years ago, way out West. Allen Springs? Uh-huh. Same place George Harvey found dead in a vacant lot, got hometown gazettes from. Same man as George Harvey who got a payoff of 125 smackers a week just for standing on the street corner every Monday around noon. Denison, get him. Yeah, I'll get him. Meet you in the interrogation room in about an hour. Are you comfortable, Mr. Carson? Cigarette? Your son will be here in a few minutes, Mr. Carson. I want you to read something, Mr. Carson. Go ahead, read it. All right, I'll read it to you. It's a report from our medical examiner. Patient exhibits no discernible organic disturbances. The fact of his having recognized a man in the morgue and having talked there plus certain reaction tests lead to the conclusion that the apparent state of shock is assumed. You know what that means, Mr. Carson? It means you're bluffing. Right in here, Bob. Hi, Denny. Fine. How are you feeling, Bob? I'll have you out of here tomorrow. I was just reading Dr. Sinsky's report to your father. There's nothing wrong with it. Look, what do you fellas want me to do? I've got a wife waiting for me. She tell you to bring back a couple of decks of cards? Hey, now. That pose was in the Sunday supplement, Bob. Very good. Listen, I'm a busy man. I'm a man who... Yeah, big corporation lawyer. We know, we know. Real proud of you, son, aren't you, Mr. Carson? Let's take a word like motive and play with it for a while, huh? Motive for what? The murder of George Harvey. George Harvey. Now, who is George... Your dad's buddy. He used to give him 125 bucks a week. That's the basis of friendship if I ever heard one. You remember George Harvey, don't you, Bob? Sure he does, Denny. After all, how big is Allen Springs, Nevada? Everybody knows. Everybody. Roping, steering, driving, driving. Everybody knows. Everybody knows. Everybody knows. Everybody knows. Everybody knows. Everybody knows. Everybody knows. Allen Springs, Nevada, everybody knows. Everybody. Roping, steering, chivalries. Those people are folk out there. Everybody knows everybody. Oh, look, Denny, his eyes just lit up. He just said to himself, oh, that George Harvey. You boys got a formal charge to bring against my father. Now, you just try that and I'll take it from... Hello there, Mr. Carson. Glad you're having fun. Bob. Bob, shut up. Now we can clear it all up, Mr. Carson. We can do what your son said, bring formal charges against you. How you been, son? Just don't say anything, Bob. I asked you, how you been? Now, don't be stupid. You're doing fine. You going to fix it, son? As long as you two men are talking, one of you can tell me who killed George Harvey. Don't be coy. Just one of you raise your hand. Son, I want to tell you something. Son. What? I'm tired. He said he's tired, Bob. Let's see what he could be tired about. Paying blackmail to George Harvey? No reason to be tired about that anymore. Harvey's dead. Just about the time when you could afford to pay more blackmail, Bob. Just about the time you got where you wanted to get. Where your wife wanted you to get. Where your father wanted you to get. Up, Pop. Big man. Son, you're my pride and joy, only I'm tired. Listen, Pop. Another scheme? Tired of those tools. Blackmail. Mr. Carson paying it to a man who knew a secret. The blackmail and he went up. The man who knew a secret is dead. Son, you ought to have a good answer for that. You've got a good education. I sure saw you got one. These guys have got nothing, Pop. My educated son says you fellas have got nothing. Well, let me just fumble around for a moment, huh? About the secret. About your wife, Mr. Carson. Tell you man something. Go ahead. Silence is a wonderful thing. All this time I've been keeping quiet. All this time I've been faking. Did a lot of good. Most of the time I was left alone. Most of the time I've been thinking. About your wife, Mr. Carson. How she died. How she was killed. All sorts of things a man thinks about. Especially at my age. A man takes time to think. He can arrange things orderly. Which one of you killed George Harvey? How's it going to sound coming out legal talk, son? You don't know what you're doing. No, I wouldn't say that. All these years I guess I knew what I was doing too. Seeing you got along covering for you. Like I figured a dad should do for a son. Especially if he's a bright kid like you. Tell him son, for the love of heaven, be a man for once. Tell him you killed George Harvey. Crazy. How you got me to cover again. Convinced me you'd work it all out. Crazy old man. Maybe, maybe I am. The man's got a 12 year old boy who shoots his mother. He think it's just a boy in a terrible accident. He tells himself that and he believes it and he tries to cover. It's out of his mind you can see that. Then George comes along. A fellow who knew what happened 21 years ago. Found a way to get some money on account of my son was getting important. Well, I'm tired. Get us to Nargapur, Denison. Yeah. We'll want to get this all in writing, Mr. Carson. Sure. You wrecked it, didn't you, Papa? I didn't mean to do it on his papa. Here, you take the gun. You make it all right. 21 years ago and again the other day. And 21 years ago I didn't even whip you. Broadway's almost empty now except for those who never quit. Those who wear peepholes for eyes, the dream walkers, the people who want to laugh. They search behind doorways, in alleys, through shuttered windows. They never go home because they can't. It's Broadway, the gaudiest, the most violent, the loneliest 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 Crouchen as Muggerman. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Curry. In tonight's story, Herb Butterfield was heard as Harry and Whitfield Connor as Robert Carson. Featured in the cast were James McCallion, Larene Tuttle, Jerry Hausner, and Eddie Fields. Bill Anders speaking. CBS Radio's new Sunday evening theater of stars finds Robert Taylor in the spotlight tomorrow evening. Mr. Taylor will play a westerner who sends for a mail order bride and when she arrives, brother. Somehow or other a whale of a rancher's spute develops. Be listening for Robert Taylor and his mail order bride on most of these same stations tomorrow evening presented by CBS Radio. Stay tuned now for CBS Radio Farm News which follows immediately over most of these same stations. And remember for thrilling dramas of escape, listen Sunday nights to the CBS Radio Network. Thank you.
