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. The soft fall of June and Broadway's heart beats fast, the girls press gently against currents of summer wind, and where the glimmer of morning sun on their hair, their lips scarlet, moist. On their shoulders golden dance of light, and their perfume is of summer fields, which mixes well with Broadway's own exotic odors. Sear of electricity, wash and cool and scent of air conditioned air, steam mist drifting from manhole covers, and Broadway follows close on the heels of summer morning, turns a corner, punches the time clock, darkens the day. Time of the Transients, their place of sleep, Duane Hotel for transients, Side Street just off Broadway, rooms dollar and a half up, weekly rates also. Place of desk gouged with the Transients mark, place of dust on mirrors on which names and numbers have been scrawled, place of a room where a man lies wounded, dying across inner door bed, and where Detective Dennison was, and I was. Nothing Danny, no baggage, suitcase, briefcase, cardboard box, nothing. Not even shaving things or a toothbrush in the bathroom. A thing, huh Danny? Well dressed man, expensively dressed, silk shirt, cheap hotel, stabbed in the back with a grimy knife. You talked to the clerk Dennison? Yeah. He said what? He said this man came in last night around one. He said this man registered as Charlie Brown, a name which conjured up old memories for the clerk, and made him request payment in advance, which this man paid. One day's worth, which is what the clerk said. He was alone? Uh-huh. The clerk said he was alone. As to visitors, the clerk got drowsy around two. Can't see with his eyes closed. I found this in his wallet. Let me touch too, huh? Must be $500 in easy dimensions. Feel real nice, don't they? Dennison, uh... Yeah, yeah. Robbery's out, huh? Looks that way. Found this in his wallet too, a business card. Lane, Incorporated Gadgets, Mechanical Funnies, George Lane, owner. George Lane matches his driver's license. The man makes mechanical funnies, carries five C's, pocket change. Look at it one way. There's no percentage in it. Look at it another way. You call the ambulance, Dennison? The clerk said he'd do it for me. The clerk said it'd be a real pleasure. So I let him. He did. And it happened then, the siren. The trailing end of the one-noted song, the shrill tone that shatters a city's traffic and lets through a self-propelled white enameled box designed to carry newly stabbed people as comfortably as possible. And the man near death becomes suddenly an object of respect. So stand by solemnly while he's lifted up and carried away. Instructions to Dennison then, and leave. Legwork and the officers of Lanes, Incorporated show the badge and be nodded to a chair by a young woman who tiptoes. And a few minutes later, be tiptoed into an office in limed oak and photographs of lawn sprinklers that turn themselves off, kittens that turn themselves on, and life-sized baby dolls that say mama and smoke. Be permitted a minute of amazement, and the door opens and your back is slapped. No gadget but a man. And how are you? My name's Harry Webster. Oh, fine. I'm... Danny Clover. You gave your name to Miss Senka, remember? And Miss Senka gave it to me. How are you, Danny? What's your position here, Mr. Webster? You asked to see the felon charged, didn't you? I'm the felon charged. That is while George Lane is away, huh? As soon as he comes in, I take off my suitcoat, and I'm a foreman. Mr. Lane's had an accident. Accident? No, no, that's the wrong word. He was stabbed. He was found in a cheap hotel with a knife. The Lane that owns this place is George Lane, Mr. Clover. Quite a wealthy man, a man who doesn't stint on anything his heart desires, so you see... Anyhow, we want you to go to police emergency hospital and make identification for us. You just stick around. Mr. Lane will be in. You boys have got the wrong man. Well, let's just go on the assumption we haven't. If we do that, I don't know what to say. Nothing comes. I'll help you. Who would want to stab him? Stab? George? I know who'd admire him, everybody. I know who'd respect him, everybody. Everyone would have a good word for him, but stab him. Stab him? When was the last time you saw him? Last night? Oh. After my house for dinner, we gave him a little dinner party. Me, my wife, my kid. Celebration. I've been working here 20 years, so I... How did Mr. Lane act last night? Oh. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Well, that means what? I went under the table about 11. My wife put me to bed. Look, I got an idea. What? I'll call my wife and tell her you're on the way over. You want to know how George was last night? Don't ask me. At 11 o'clock, I heard the clock strike. 11 o'clock, and I felt myself sliding under... Just write down your address for me, huh, Mr. Webster? You're Mr. Clover? Yes. Well, I've been waiting for your step ever since Harry called. Just minutes ago, a man walked through the hall, and I opened the door and asked him if it was you, and he just grinned and winked. I was very embarrassed. May we go inside, Mrs. Webster? Oh, yes, yes. Please come inside. Dear, I tried to straighten up the place in the short time since Harry called, and myself, too. Harry should have had sense enough to ask you to wait around just a little while, so I could... It doesn't matter, Mrs. Webster. Oh, no, I... I don't suppose it does, does it? George hurt and wounded, dying like some lonely animal... Mrs. Webster... Now, don't you play games with me. Do you hear? No games. Because Harry told me all about it on the phone, and I'll match what you said to Harry and what you say to me and what Harry said, because he told me... Mrs. Webster... And Harry doesn't lie. He never fibs. Now, that's one thing you can say about my husband, Harry. You threw, Mrs. Webster? Well, I'm upset. I tell you that so you know I'm just terribly, terribly upset. Because of what's happened to Lane? George is dying, isn't he? We don't know yet. We're doing all we... And all you can do or want to do or dream of doing for George Lane won't be enough. Oh. Yes. Oh, George is an attractive man and strong, a wonderful man, a man with a sense of humor too. So funny. So very funny. You should have heard the funny things he said when Harry passed out last night at his own party, his own party for his boss, George Lane. Twenty years of faithful, devoted service, and Harry gives the party. And Harry Webster passes out at 11 o'clock. Oh, George did such a funny thing. What did he do, Mrs. Webster? Well, when Harry just sort of oozed down under the table, George did a magic trick with the tablecloth, just yanked it out from under everything and draped it over Harry and landed a stalk of celery in Harry's hand. Isn't that funny? Isn't that very funny? No, not very. Well, I thought it was funny. Even Sylvia finally laughed. Sylvia? Sylvia, my daughter. Even she had to laugh finally the way her father looked. And the funny dance George did around. And your daughter was at the celebration too. And what's more, George offered to take her home, and she accepted, and I was very proud, I can tell you. I even tried to wake Harry to tell him his own daughter was being taken home, but... Oh, but Harry, Harry was dead to the world. I had to drag him by... Then your daughter has a place of her own. And a job of her own. The 58th Street Record Shop. My daughter's very independent and... Oh, but if, if George took her home and it was last night that George was... Thank you, Mrs. Webster. Hey, Bellboy. I'm sorry, sir. We prefer you're not taking that briefcase into the listening booth with you and all those records. Thank you. Hey, Bellboy. Now, you, sir. Is your name Sylvia Webster? That's right. I'm Miss Webster. Well, I'm Mr. Webster. And you are? I'm Mr. Webster. And you are? I'm Mr. Webster. And you are? I'm Mr. Webster. And you are? I'm Mr. Webster. And you are? I'm Mr. Webster. I'm Danny Clover, police. That's all right. I'd like to ask you a few questions, Miss Webster. That's all right, too. Earlier this morning, George Lane was found with a knife in his back. Just a minute. Now, you were saying that George Lane was found stabbed and you want to ask me some questions. Isn't that right? Did you stab him? That'd be foolish, wouldn't it? Stab a man, get yourself in a mess. Just when Mr. Sussman gave me a raise last week. May I ask how old you are, Miss Webster? Twenty. I look older, don't I? I've suffered. All the books I read, girls 20 years old suffer. So, like them, it's been a constant battle to keep my face from wrinkling. Why don't you live with your parents? In the books, Mr. Clover, the books. All girls 20 years old rebel. They go off and live by themselves. Their mothers weep, daddies fold their arms and look off into space and think, what kind of ingrate have I reared? A 20-year-old girl who wants to live alone. Mr. Lane took you home last night, didn't he? I was flattered. Did you find him attractive, Miss Webster? I can only assume, Mr. Clover, that since you asked the question under these circumstances, you've only seen the old boy when he'd been stabbed. You ought to see him without a knife in him. Was there anything... Mr. Lane took me home, handed me up the stoop, held a lighted match near my purse while I located my key, opened the door for me, and made a wish. And? It didn't come true. I closed the door in back of me and left him to face the bitter night alone. Mind if I ask you a question? Go ahead. Is Mr. Lane dead? No. Would you like to see him? I'd love to, but Mr. Sussman left me in charge for the entire day. Think of it. My first day in charge. What an opportunity for a 20-year-old. Just tell him hello, huh? Thanks. Danny? Dr. Sinskey? How was... I took a moment outside Mr. Lane's room, Danny, to grab a smoke. I didn't wish to... Didn't wish to what, Dr. Sinskey? To intrude on the grief of his visitors. I did everything I know, Danny, but... Visitors? Who were... A mister and Mrs. Harry Webster. They told the desk they were old friends. Mr. Webster said you had wished to... Let's go in, huh? Yes, Mr. Webster? That's George, all right. That man there in the back, George Lane. A man I worked for for 20 years. A man... My wife's crying because... Danny? A man we've admired, respected. A man... Just a minute, Mr. Archie. Was it Dr. Sinskey? Mr. Lane is dead, Danny. That was a remarkable man. A truly remarkable man. A man I never was. A man I would have given anything to be. All the things I've done. Don't do that, Harry. Because you're right. You're just so right. A wonderful, wonderful man is dead. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin, and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. In the night where you will be expecting your date with Dick Powell as Richard Diamond, Private Detective, listen for a special program starring Dick Powell and Amos and Andy. Hear the dramatic feature titled The Iron Mortar, describing four generations of progress in the drug field. This Sunday night on most of these same CBS radio stations. In the sunlight of a new morning in June, Broadway leans against a subway exit before going to work and makes the last memory about the long night past. There was the bottle of beer in the corner bar and the reflection of the girl in mirror and how she accepted the light you offered her and not your friendship. And the wilted salad and the siren songs of the disc jockeys and spasms of sleep and fragments of dreams. When you were skimming the lagoons of Manicura and later when your brow was being stroked in a South Sea Island way. And the best dream of all, the one you had been trying to remember for months, shattered again by the alarm clock, lost again. Because it's a new morning again. And for me the new morning was police headquarters and Sergeant Gino Tartaglio. Danny. Good morning Gino. Oh, what's up? Go ahead, be bright and sunny. Oh, trouble this morning Gino? June is the cruelest month. You know who said that? Mrs. Tartaglio. She can't sleep on June 9th. Gino. So she keeps me awake. She keeps telling me she hears music. Gino, please. And I have always been very proud of my hearing Danny. I hear no music. She keeps nudging me and says, you hear that? You hear that? Violin? So help me Gino. Once I think I heard a trumpet blow but I wasn't sure so I went back to sleep. But that was last month. But what am I bothering you with? Let's get down to things at hand, shall we? If you please. Rundown on results of legwork by the good detective Denison. The deceased George Lane was known as a big man with the maidens. Some people who knew best described Mr. Lane as dynamic and let's see, powerful. Also at one juncture in his life he was all but snagged. Snagged? He was once engaged to be married to a maidie Carson. Detective Denison has jotted down her address which I give you now. Thanks. So what do you think Danny? About what? About Mrs. D. About she can't sleep at night in June. Just wait till July, huh? Yes? Miss Carson, maidie Carson? That's right. I'm from the police. You people must be very thorough. I didn't realize. That's right, Miss Carson. And you found a wounded man who then died and because of that you scraped through files and things and you discovered I was once to marry that man. Maidie Carson with George Lane. That's right. Then do come in. Somewhere in all that mess of magazines and newspapers there must be a place to sit. Thanks. You know why the mess? Well, Miss Carson. In all those magazines, all of them, there are ads. For relief organizations who have children on the market for adoption. Look. And I've been shopping, browsing so to speak and I discover French children are very polite and still and little Italian boys are nice too. Those are the Greek children and the Polish. I tell you what. What? So many to choose from it's very difficult for a girl to make up her mind. That's how Lane's death hits you, Miss Carson. Oh no. When it hit me like that was when George Lane would not marry with me. Why not? Why not? Why not? Why not? You know anything about George? Other than he's dead, of course. A few things. You know he was a powerhouse? A veritable powerhouse. A sweeper of girls off their old patterns. A challenge to men. All things his opponent. Men, women, things. And George always wanted to be a man. Men, women, things and George always won. And to the losers, the spoils. What are you talking about? I'm talking about a bar where once three years ago a girl sat waiting for her fiance and George Lane, distinguished, gray, bulky and harmless, introduced himself. Bought said girl a drink. Invited said girl for a little jaunt in his sports car. Said girl. Me. The finish. The end. Then he wanted to marry you. I wanted. And I talked adorable with my fiance. And he said how could he compete with a man like George? Why? Once at Coney we were all together, the three of us, and... And what? Well, simply that George out pitched, out hammered, out coastered, out photographed my fiance. So fiance said go marry the man and I said please George. And George humored me, bought the license, tore it up a week later. And so... Go on. So I went back to my boyfriend and said Paul, forgive, forgive, forgive. Paul didn't. Can't imagine why. Paul... Paul Tyson. He has a home and everything on 23rd Street. Home and everything. I've been watching. One more question. You killed George Lane? No. Look, you get around. You ever run across a nice orphan in the market from, um... You tell him about me, hmm? I'm nice. I'm kind. I'm... Uh-huh. That's what I am. Goodbye, Miss Carson. Uh-huh. Bye. I've got no regrets, Mr. Clover. Nice wife, nice kids, nice view here from the office window. You noticed the view? Yes, I did, Mr. Tyson. Now, uh, if you would... Sure, I would have married Maydee before George Lane came along, that is. A matter of pride after that. What do you mean? He threw me over for him. Then Lane whirled her around a few times and pointed her back to me. Pride. I told her to go away. You want to tell me about George Lane? A very strong man. A very great hand wrestler. After what he did to me in front of Maydee, I went out and married a woman taller than I am, and all my children are small for their age. There's a very psychological novel in there someplace. Did you kill George Lane? He scared me to death. That's a motive, isn't it? No, I didn't kill him. And you mean what you said, Mr. Tyson, about no regrets? Why do you ask? Maybe just clutching a straw now that you're married and nostalgia for Maydee and the reason you didn't marry her motive. Nothing like that, Mr. Clover. Nothing's left of what I once felt for Maydee. When she came back from George Lane, she wasn't Maydee anymore. She was suddenly a sad woman, no more spirit. She even started to wear gray dresses with high linen colors. Tough about her, didn't matter to me. I've got a wife and all the kids I want, and I'm very happy. I'm too happy to murder anybody, Mr. Clover. Know what I mean? And hit the street again. An early afternoon of summer, riot of summer, and quiet places of summer. Side street of hurdy-gurdy man. And the June dance of a wise little monkey. Red cap, little bells, and a very special routine for lady watchers. And a quarter in the cup, a pat on the skull from a lady watcher, bare-legged in sandals. Watch it for a while longer, walk away from it, toward river. And consider a criss-cross of lives. George Lane's with Maydee Carson, George Lane's with Paul Tyson, George Lane's with Mr. and Mrs. Harry Webster, and with their daughter. George Lane, murdered man who made small dieings for people he touched. The summer river for a while, then back to it, because there's nowhere else. The job, headquarters. In your office, a woman waiting for you. Hello, Mrs. Webster. You wanted to see me about something? Yes, about my husband, about Harry. What about him? About Harry and George. Well? They'd known each other a long time, 20 years. Go on. From the time I had my daughter Sylvia, all the time she was growing up. Mrs. Webster. Please. All right. When Sylvia was a child, George Lane was a better father to her actually than Harry ever was. What are you getting at, Mrs. Webster? Please. George brought her things Harry never dreamed a little girl would love. He read to her, played with her, brought a look to the child's face Harry had never seen, and could never understand why. You're trying to tell me... And with me, George danced well, and laughed well, and made up naughty little sayings. And then... Then what? Sylvia's grown up now, and George noticed it. By the way, he offered to take her home the other night, and... What I've come to tell you, Mr. Clover... What? I think my husband Harry killed George Lane. If he did, he should suffer for it. Isn't that right? Doesn't an evil deed deserve... Where's your husband now? With my daughter, her apartment on West 12th. That's all, Mrs. Webster. You won't tell him that I... I don't care. Tell him if you want. Oh, what do you want? I'd like to talk with you, Mrs. Webster. Okay. Well... Can we go inside? I'm a busy little girl tonight. I've got company. Your father won't mind. Oh. Well, you know he's here, huh? Okay, come on in. Pop? Hi there, Clover. Good evening, Mr. Webster. We weren't gambling, Mr. Clover. Just a little father-daughter gin game. Loser runs down to the corner and buys a quart of ice cream. Grab a chair. We'll make it three-handed. Mr. Clover says he came here to talk. Oh, that's fine. To me, Pop. Oh, like that, huh? It's like what, Mr. Clover? I'd better go. That's all right, Mr. Webster. Stay. I want to talk to both of you. Hey, now, you... Your wife thinks you might have killed George Lane. Yes. Yes, I figured she would. Did you? I told you he was a man I respected more than... Oh, cut it out. Well, it's true. Is it? Sure, I told you. But you still haven't told me the answer to the question, Mr. Webster. I didn't kill him. That only leaves your daughter. The heat must have got to him. Then who else would you say it leaves, Miss Webster? Pop. The heat really got to him, didn't it? Why don't you level, Pop? Huh? About George. What you really thought of him. Listen, why don't you tell Mr. Clover how you hated George? I've already found out some things about him. Like what? That he was a dominating man. That he destroyed everything he touched. Did you find that out? How did you feel about him, Miss Webster? Look, yes, I hated him. All my life. He made me feel small, unimportant. He paid my wages, and when he felt like it, he took over my family. You know, he took your daughter home after your party? Look, you didn't let me finish. Don't get crazy. Well, he didn't let me finish, and I want to finish. I went to his hotel and I killed him. See what's become of my father, Mr. Clover? He's become ridiculous. Pop. Pop. It's a tool, Sylvia. You know what kind of a hotel George was killed in? Sylvia. The cheapest joint he could find, not his hotel. Sylvia. Where he wanted me to meet him. Shut up. Where I met him. Where I killed him. You know why? You know why, Mr. Clover. Like everybody else, I fell flat on my face for him. Twenty years he was building me up to being alone with him. Please, Sylvia, you just shut up. Instead of going home, he said he had a place he wanted to show me. I would have gone any place with him. Worshipped him, Pop. He took me to that place. I stretched out my arms to him. And all he did was laugh at me and started to walk out. Destroyed me. And that's all he wanted. Sylvia. I'm sorry. No. Listen to me. I'm glad you did it. Yeah. But I should have done it. You couldn't. You didn't have the strength. He destroyed you long ago. It's the journey to the end of all the other streets in the world, Broadway. You turn a corner and you're there. Walk it slowly. Lean your heart against it. Chop for the kicks, the bargains, the heartbreak. Until all explodes in your face. 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 Crouchin as Muggervon. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Barbara Ider was heard as Sylvia, and Herb Butterfield as Harry. Featured in the cast were Paula Winslow, Irene Tedrow, James McCallion, and Lou Merrill. Bill Anders speaking. This coming Monday night, where CBS Radio has been bringing you its production of Suspense, listen for the new mystery series called Crime Classics. This Monday on Crime Classics, you will hear a report on the crime of Bathsheba Spooner, the complete story of the first woman tried for murder in the United States. Crime Classics premiere performance this Monday on most of these same CBS radio stations. And remember for thrilling dramas of escape, listen Sunday nights to the CBS Radio Network. And remember for thrilling dramas of escape, listen Sunday nights to the CBS Radio Network. Thank you.
