Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the guardiest, the most violent, the
lonesomest mile in the world.
Broadway's My Beat, with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Grover.
Broadway, it's the neon avenue of the beggars, the gleaming alley of the scavengers who dart
in search and revel in a blaze of fury, then gather in the gutters of night. There they
move in catalog and compare the spoils salvaged from the litter of darkness, the materials
of pain, the odds and ends of bitterness, the scraps of illusion. And you watch them and
try to move away, but you can't. You're one of them. It's Broadway's My Beat.
The room is dismal and cold. The walls are covered with many coats of green paint. You
know that because initials have been gouged into them, because there are scars or fingers
that clawed at them. It's a room where pain is brought in off the streets and wrapped
in sterile gauze and sent on its way. A police emergency ward close to the East River. A
girl wrapped in a brown blanket lies on the table in the center of the room. The naked
light bulb draws the color out of her. Glitters on her dank hair. And finally the man who
has been bent over her sighs, shudders, and finds her in a shadow.
I can trouble you for a cigarette, Danny?
Sure, sure. Here.
Thanks.
Well, Dr. Sinclair?
A moment, Danny. Give me a moment. I'll never adjust to it. But the girl, she'll be all
right, Danny. I think she'll be all right.
Suicide attempt?
This is a question, Danny. That's why I called you. Maybe suicide. Maybe somebody wanted
a dead poster into the river because they wanted a dead poster.
You're crazy, Doc. I've been telling you she wanted to die, so she picked the river.
Who are you?
I'm her husband. I don't work at it, though, so I still don't understand why I was called.
Maybe you can tell me, Mr.
Clover. This is Danny Clover, a good detective, a good man. Show him respect, Mr.
Guilford.
Yeah, okay. Please, Mr. Clover, will you tell me why I was called down here? Please.
Maybe they thought you'd shed a tear over your wife.
Give me another reason, Mr. Clover.
We called him, Danny, to identify the girl. We found one of those ten cents store
identification cards on her. Said she was Janet Guilford. Case of emergency to
notify her husband, Mark Guilford. You see the result.
You say your wife wanted to die, Mr. Guilford. You knew about that?
Yeah, I knew. She told me often enough. She held it over me like a whip. She beat me
with it how she was going to kill herself. A man like me can only take so much of
that, Mr. Clover.
Only so much. So you tried to make her wish come true.
Try again, Mr. Clover. I haven't been near her in three months.
Wait, wait. Why would I pick that? I want it to be quiet. It must be quiet.
Mrs. Guilford. Don't be frightened, Mrs. Guilford. You're all right.
Who are you? Who are you to tell me I'm all right? Who are you?
I'm a doctor, Mrs. Guilford. Are you a mystery? Do you see the shock?
Shock?
Mrs. Guilford, please.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate all of you good-for-merit.
What do you get? A medal for saving a life I don't want? No one wants?
Mrs. Guilford, we brought your husband. Come here, Mr. Guilford.
Your husband, Mrs. Guilford, he is very concerned over you.
Yeah. Yeah, Janice, he's...
Get your hands off me! Take him off!
Okay, dear. Okay.
Mrs. Guilford, taking your own life again.
Against the law? Against whose law? Yours? And yours? And his? My husband?
Mrs. Guilford.
You're a policeman, aren't you?
Yes.
I'll tell you something, because you're a policeman. You didn't let me die when I wanted to die.
But I'll die even if I have to make you kill me. I'll do something and you have to kill me, then I'll be dead! Dead! Dead!
Ben Dotsosinski became impersonal about the whole thing.
Somehow there was suddenly a cotton dog in one hand to hype one the other.
In a few moments, Janet Guilford's protest became sobs, and the sobs trailed off into sleep.
And each morning after that, reports were put on my desk.
Janet Guilford was in shock. Then she was a little better, taking nourishment.
On Monday they sent me some ink blots. Translation, Janet Guilford was a lot better.
Tuesday she was ashamed of what she had done. Thursday she was released.
Then it was Thursday night and a squad car called into headquarters. Central Park detail calling.
The spring night had just been shattered. A woman's been found shot to death a couple of hundred yards in back of the zoo.
Get down here. I did.
Hi, Danny. Right over here.
Okay, Gloria. Brief me, what happened?
Up on that flat, Danny, and it's off the big rock. Come on.
Right over there. That happened.
Shot in the back, huh?
Mm-hmm. Come up close. I'd say someone had an arm around it with a gun.
Find a weapon?
No, maybe it's around the left of the way in those daylights to make sure.
Attractive woman like that.
Well, she tried to be. We had a little more time to look, Danny. An awful lot of makeup.
And they had too much for this trolling in Central Park.
Identification?
Yeah, yeah, a wallet. There's a security card, driver's license.
Name's Thelma Harper, 1414 Front Street, Bronx. Leave so it says in the wallet.
Let's see.
Yeah, in here.
A little more flashlight, Gloria.
She had a lot of friends.
Any nice pictures?
Yeah, yeah, she did. I guess one of her friends fooled her.
You're gonna kill us with that light fire.
Oh, sorry.
I don't think so.
What?
I'm not sure. These Cone Island snapshots. A man and a woman with their heads stuck to a cardboard box to make them look like hula dancers.
It's very clear.
It's pretty clear, Danny. I'd say the woman was Thelma Harper.
Me too. You know what I'd say about the man?
No, I don't say it, so I know.
I'd say his name was Mark Guilford. I'd say this is the man whose wife tried to commit suicide a few days ago.
At headquarters, they gave me Mark Guilford's address, a rooming house on West 16th Street.
It was dawn, but already the Watts women of the street were leaning out of upstairs windows, their arms folded and resting on pillows to ease the hardships of their occupation.
They watched me, classified me, nodded dawn's greetings to each other, with their eyes pointed me out to each other,
and then discarded me in favor of a yelping dog.
In a hallway lighted with a 10 watt bulb, I found the door to Mark's room.
There was no answer. I tried to knock. It was locked.
Then there was the sound of someone coming up the stairs. It was Mark Guilford.
Hey, you, what are you doing? You trying to play?
Hey, good morning, Mark.
Oh, it's Mr. Clover of the police department.
What's the matter, Mr. Clover? Janet, try it again.
Let's go into your room.
Yeah, sure, sure.
Here, I'll turn on the light.
It's not cozy, but it's private.
Till now. You may have the chair, Mr. Clover.
You've been out, Mark?
Yeah, sure, I've been out. Big night, home at dawn. Every night is that way with me. Big.
Tell me about tonight.
Mind if I wash my face and hands first? No, you don't mind.
What's special about tonight?
Thelma Hopper.
You mind handing me that towel, Mr. Clover?
Thanks.
Thelma Hopper, Mark.
Yeah, good kids, a lot of fun. Takes a man's mind off of things.
Man like me.
She was found dead tonight in Central Park.
I'll just hang this towel out the window to dry.
They always do that and never dry.
You didn't hear me, Mark. Thelma Hopper was murdered, shot in the back.
I heard you.
What do you want me to do, to cry, scream, tear my hair out?
A man like me, I don't do things like that.
But a man like you has your picture taken with Thelma at Coney Island.
What else does a man like you do, Mark, like tonight?
I work.
What?
I work every night of my life. I work. Except holidays.
Where?
The city power plant. I miss the dynamos.
Listen to their whining. One stops whining, lights go out in the street and houses.
I coax the dynamo, lights go back on. I do this every night. Tonight, too. You can check.
We will.
Did you ask Janet about Thelma's murder?
No. Should I?
Yeah, you should. That's what broke Janet and me up, this Thelma kid.
Between swearing to kill herself and or Thelma, Janet had me on a merry-go-round.
I would figure, wouldn't it, Mr. Clover?
You'll stick around, huh, Mark, in case we need you for anything.
Yeah, sure, glad to. But you'll see, Mr. Clover, it's like I told you, that Janet, very confused girl. Very.
Mark Fallaby, check. After that, there was only one thing to do. Pick up Janet Guilford.
It should have been simple. She'd given us an address. I went there in a squad color.
I would have made it except that the East River stopped me.
Somewhere in the middle of the river is where she would have lived if the address had existed at all.
Then an all-points bulletin, pick up Janet Guilford. She was wanted for questioning in connection with a murder.
And all the while, a thought was taking shape and trying to get itself heard.
Eventually, I would have put it into words if Dr. Sinsky hadn't beaten me to it.
It was at headquarters, and he started off gently.
Janet?
Oh, come in, Dr. Sinsky.
Okay. Am I interrupting you?
Uh-uh.
Oh, then I'll sit. I got a few things on my mind.
Me too. I've been thinking that...
It looks like we both were.
I'm sorry, doctor.
Go ahead.
You know, when you practice medicine around the police department, something happens. Something rubs off and sticks.
What are you trying to say?
For instance, this. A police physician gets his medicine mixed up with motifs.
I treat a wound, I ask myself, what circumstance, what did the will do to this person to produce this hurt?
You're getting at something, Dr. Sinsky?
Yeah, yeah, Danny, I am. I'm trying to explain.
I'm trying to excuse myself for making a suggestion that belongs to your department.
I'd be happy for it.
Danny, several days ago, a woman named Janet Guilford tried to kill herself.
In her hysteria, she swore she would die somehow, even if she made the police kill her.
People say all sorts of things in distress, but now...
Go ahead.
I've been reading the reports. They suppose Janet killed Thelma Harper. Janet would be a murderess.
A woman can be executed. Janet would get her wish. She'd die.
Pardon me, Danny.
Oh, sure.
Danny Korver speaking.
Muggerman, Danny. We found Janet Guilford.
Good. Where is she?
In a flea bag on Third Avenue, 2220. You'd better hurry, Danny. She might not be here long.
Uh, in this room here, Danny.
Oh, no.
Yeah, suicide. Promoter squad still working on her.
Who found her?
I found her. I found her right there where she is now, and I didn't touch a thing except...
Except what?
Well, I kicked out the window. I smelled gas in here, and I saw right away what happened, so I kicked out the window and called you police.
Who are you?
Mrs. Lamp. I own this awful place. Mr. Lamp left it to me, and I run it as a tribute to his memory.
He told me on his deathbed, he said, Mrs. Lamp, I'm leaving you the flea bag. I'd like to...
Okay, okay. How did you happen to find her?
Well, this lady here told me yesterday. She said she might not be home for a couple of days, so I came in to feed her canary, and I smelled gas, and I saw and kicked in the window and called you police.
Yeah.
Danny.
Yeah, what is it, Mother?
Promoter boy just gave me the nod.
Dan. Janet Jopford's dead.
Yeah, Danny. Dead.
You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Creechen, and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover.
You've got to listen close on Broadway. That's the only way you can tell if the sound you just heard was laughter or somebody beating back a scream in his throat.
Not that it makes a lot of difference. Broadway reacts to clowns and murder in putting it the same way.
In the matter of Selma Hopper, a woman who died in Central Park, Broadway was appreciative of the setting. It went to spring.
In the suicide of Janet Jopford, Broadway passed it off as the B production, which went with the main feature.
Or as Sargentino Tataglia said it the next day in my office...
This is where I came in, Danny.
Huh?
This is where I came, 20 years ago, this very day.
What are you talking about, Detective?
20 years ago, they're sat in that very desk. You are now in France, a Lieutenant Marsala. His daughter Nina came to visit him. I walked in, we looked.
Without a word was hardly spoken, we walked down to the city hall and became Mr. and Mrs. Tataglia.
Oh, it's your anniversary. Congratulations.
I knew I dragged that out of you. Hey, look Danny, a new shave, courtesy of the ever-loving Mrs. Tataglia and the Shave Master she gave me.
My face and these shaves make a handsome couple, huh?
I'm striking, Detective.
Then please.
Now Danny, if you don't mind, I think that's enough idle chatter. How's about what's getting to work, huh?
All right, if you put it that way.
Frankly, Danny, work is at a roll.
Imagine that. And I thought we had a murder to work on.
You know, I just don't understand, Danny. I thought this case was open and sharp.
Tell me how.
Well, Janet Guilford tries to commit suicide, fails, is unhappy because she fails. Thelma Harper, who was gadding about with Janet's husband, is found shot to death.
Then Janet tries to commit suicide again, succeeds. One and one makes two.
As simple as that.
Sure. Janet murders the source of her trouble, which is Thelma. Then Janet turns on the gas.
Yeah, it's probably just that way. But what about Thelma Harper? Anything there?
No, we have questioned Miss Harper's friends and enemies with dispatching diligence. Each one has produced a textbook type alibi, which would be tough to crack with a crowbar.
All of them, huh?
Except Holly Morris.
Who's Holly Morris?
Thelma's maid.
Well, why didn't you question her?
Well, we can't find her. Nowhere. As if, whoosh, she went up from the pelt to smoke.
That's right. Get an all-points bulletin out on Holly Morris. Find her. Bring her in. Find her, Sotaglia.
Turn her out, pay attention, Danny. It's smuggled in.
Oh. Anything?
Nothing, Danny. Why don't you tell somebody you're hiding out communications?
You found me. What do you want?
I tracked down every lead on Holly Morris. Seems everybody knows everything about her except where she's disappeared to.
Stay with us.
Danny, it's a plain to everybody that Janet Guilford committed the murder. What are you building?
You'll stay with us, my dear.
Okay. Okay. If you're interested, there's a guy waiting for you in your office.
What?
When I was looking for you, I peeked in your office. There's a guy there.
Hey, Danny, I'll keep checking with you.
Danny, Danny, Danny. Such a long time no see. Hiya, Danny.
Hi, Irv. What's on your mind?
Oh, Danny, I can tell by your expression you are very busy in the brain department. So I'll come right to the point.
I will not tell you how is Mrs. Newman or about the lousy cab business.
What is it, Irv?
It's about a thing. Her name is Holly Morris.
What about her?
I understand the police department needs her. There are bulletins that are defecting the company garage. Her picture. Have you seen this woman? Report it to me.
You know where she is?
Chantle, Danny, chantle. Let me at least ram the pysy. Yesterday in the afternoon gets into my cab a thing.
Take me to the park, she says. I take her to the park. She talks to me about springs and such things. Then take me home, she says. I take her home.
The fare is a dollar sixty, I say. She gives me a pin for a tip. This is so you will remember me, she says.
When I saw a picture in the garage, I remembered it even better. The generous lady is Holly Morris.
Where'd you take her?
To a basement of Cliveman and a brownstone. 2967 West 68th Street.
Danny, you'll come to the house for wishes sometime. It's always open.
Miss Morris? Miss Morris? Anyone home? Miss Morris? Are you asleep? I'm from the police. Miss Morris, wake up.
She lay tall across the meeting, her eyes staring, her mouth open in the silent ugly grimace of a scream.
A scream that was never heard because it had been cut off, strangled back into her throat.
The thing that did it was the silk stalking, knotted, cutting deep into the flesh of her throat.
I worked at it, the knot was tight, tight. And then it crashed across the back of my scalp.
It was all pain everywhere and all. And it came again.
Hey, what's going on down there? What's going on?
And the far-off voice was washed away because it came again.
And then it was the sound of running down a long, long corridor. And the ticking clock meant nothing.
Come on, come on, come on. Wake up. Wake up, you. You say something I can understand. You hear? Wake up. Get up and talk to me.
What's going on here?
Who are you?
Dewey. I'm Dewey. What are you doing here? What happened?
Make it easy, friends. I'm a policeman. Now you tell me what happened.
I'm Dewey. I'm the super here. Run things, keep the water hot, complaint the problem.
What about the girl on the band Dewey?
Oh, I didn't notice her. I only noticed you. I heard noises. I hurried to the scene. I found your body on the rug.
Start all over, huh? What about the girl on the band?
She's a tenant. I like her.
She's dead, Dewey.
I don't believe you. You believe she. Everyone is a potential cop. Dead?
Strangled. A little while ago I walked in on it. Whoever strangled Holly Morris tried to beat me to death. I guess you disturbed him.
Oh, the fellas will never believe it when I tell them.
Look, Dewey, you still haven't told me very much about Holly. You want to do that now or down at headquarters?
Now or at headquarters?
Now.
Then tell me.
Well, Holly Morris was our latest tenant. She paid her rent a month in advance.
Oh, she was lavish with her money in that she did profusely and gave gratuities whether the occasion called for it or not.
Obviously a woman of wealth and station. Believe me, that's all I know. Oh, I'd hate to go to headquarters and have a bemish on my record.
Yeah, stick around, Dewey.
However, if I can be of further assistance...
Don't call us. We'll call you.
Oh, the blows a human skull can take both inside and outside.
They'll get easy, Doctor.
Still, Danny, you had so much already you can't take a little more.
This is a work of art, what they did to your head.
You like it, huh?
It's like all art, Danny. I don't know much about it, but I know what I like.
Yes, do I like this particular masterpiece of lancy? I don't like it.
Thanks, Doc.
Hey, watch it.
Oh, you're maligning me, Danny. All my non-paying patients say I have such a beautiful bedside manner.
There, you're fixed up, Danny. Till the next time. How many next plans can there be?
No more for Holly Morris. Why? Can you tell me why?
This is even a worse headache for you, isn't it, Danny? Three people dead.
A heavy responsibility for you, for society.
The suicide, Janet Gilford. That's what bothers me. If it weren't suicide...
Say where you are, Danny. I'll answer.
First aid room, Dr. Sinsky speaking. But you can't, Lieutenant Clover.
I'll take it, Doctor.
Lieutenant Clover speaking.
Oh, Mr. Clover, I insisted on talking to you. You were so nice and so polite.
You remember me, the fleabag lady?
Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, what's on your mind, Mr. Lam?
The bird, Mr. Clover.
What?
The bird. The little canary that belonged to poor Mrs. Gilford.
The one in her room, remember?
What about it?
Well, I was just wondering about the law in these matters.
The law about dead persons' property, you know, the heirs and so forth, and their lawful rights.
Mrs. Lam, please get to the point.
Well, I was just wondering, if Mrs. Gilford has no heirs, please may I keep the little bird?
I've grown so attached to it. Oh, the melodies it makes up right out of its own little head.
It still sings?
Oh, yes, like a bird.
Keep it, Mrs. Lam, keep it. There'll be no other heirs.
Oh, thank you, thank you.
Doctor?
What, Danny?
The headache. You did good. It doesn't bother me anymore.
Hey, hey, who's that guy there?
Danny Clover. Is that you, Mark?
Hey, Danny, come on up to step further in.
Okay.
While the catwalk, Danny, be careful.
Only got handrails at strategic places.
You can walk out into the air again, careful.
How you feeling, boy?
It's tight.
Is it tight? Does it get you the spilling?
By the sight. You know, I've never been in a power plant before.
Those dynamos.
I like it, Danny. What's the blowtorch?
Oh, yeah.
This chandelier pipe sprung a leak. A little weld job.
You caught me right in the midst.
Don't let me disturb you.
No, go ahead, go ahead, boy. What's on your mind?
You and far between, then I get to talk to someone on this job.
With all this machinery, the baby, I can appreciate it.
Ah, these dynamos run themselves. I only wish I had that brain.
Oh, why the night time call, Danny?
You like it here, huh? You like your work?
It plays.
You're gonna have to find a replacement, Mark.
I was wondering how you were gonna play with three of them.
Why did you have to kill them?
Wasn't easy. It's my lifetime to build up to it.
You almost got away with it.
I figured I did.
What happened?
We found out your wife didn't commit suicide.
A bird this big lived in the room where your wife died.
The gas in that room was meant up to kill a canary.
Why should it kill your wife?
Imagine that, a bird.
Uh-huh.
Meaning your wife was dead before you turned on the gas.
Suffocated, I figure. About the same effect as illuminating gas.
Yeah, I read up on that one.
Imagine that, will you? A bird.
Why holly, Mark? Why did you have to kill her?
She was around when I had my argument with Thelma.
First, that paid her off, and then she got greedy, so I changed my mind.
Killing got easier all the time.
Why the argument with Thelma?
Thelma was saying me goodbye.
After my wife tried to drown herself, Thelma suddenly wanted no part.
So you killed her.
Shot her.
In the park.
And my wife got blamed for it.
For her.
Let's go, Mark.
You've been sensible up to now, Danny. It's been a pleasure listening to you.
Let's go.
After what I can do to people, kill them.
I found out I can do that.
Hey, where you at, Danny? Well, we'll give you that pipe.
Put down that horse, Mark.
Oh, you know I can't do that.
Uh-oh, we see a gun again.
My, uh...
I picked arms, so I'm taking you. Come on.
No, you won't take me.
You won't take me, Danny.
Mark, come back here.
You'll never take me.
Ah!
His scream preceded him as he fell from above.
Then in that sudden swift time, the face masked in horror,
the eyes pleading in a mind as he clawed the air past me.
A man's awful recognition that he's dead.
Then the instance was over.
There was nothing.
Dawn touches Broadway now.
It bleeds the color out of the neon,
turns the gold of the speculars into drops.
And the remnants of night are driven back into the earth.
You walk the gray street from behind the doorway,
you hear an old sound, the sound of weeping.
You know that the night sign will never leave.
It's found the wreckage.
It's Broadway, the godless, the most violent,
the lonesomest mile in the world.
Broadway, my beast.
Broadway's My Beast stars Larry Thor as detective Danny Clover
with Charles Salvat as Tartaglia.
The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis.
The musical score was composed and conducted by Alexander Couric.
Included in the cast tonight is the famous actor,
the man who played the role of the
The man who played the role of the
man who played the role of the
Thank you.