Auto Light and its 98,000 dealers bring you Mr. Paul Douglas in tonight's presentation
of Suspense.
Tonight, Auto Light presents the exciting report of one man's efforts to prevent a
national tragedy.
It is based on fact with only names and places changed.
The story is called Man Alive, our star, Mr. Paul Douglas.
Hello, Harlow.
Hi, Hap.
Boy, you're sure loaded down.
Thanksgiving shopping, Harlow.
Yeah.
Turkey?
Check.
Cranberries?
Check.
Spark plugs?
Check.
What?
Check the spark plugs, Hap.
They always have to be in top shape so that your engine will give you smooth and economical
performance.
And there's no better time than now to have them checked by your nearest auto light spark
plug dealer.
And suppose he finds them as gone as Thursday's turkey, Harlow?
Why, Hap, if they're worn out or wrong for your style of driving, your auto light spark
plug dealer will replace them with a set of world famous ignition engineered auto light
spark plugs, either standard or resistor type.
Sounds like a great idea, Harlow.
Where do I locate my auto light spark plug dealer?
Hap, just phone Western Union by number and ask for operator 25.
She'll gladly tell you the location of your nearest auto light spark plug dealer.
And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with auto light.
And now, auto light presents Man Alive, starring Mr. Paul Douglas, hoping once again to keep
you in suspense.
You may have seen the name, Man Jackson.
I run a column of saucy chat and unimpeachable rumors in the San Francisco Express under
the heading, what else, Man Overboard.
It's got little paragraphs, you know, man among men, that's the sports section, and
man's best friend, so forth.
Well, beginning today, I've got a new department called Man Alive, just because I'm so lucky
I am.
Last night, I let my secretary off at 5.30 so she could go and do some Christmas shopping,
although I've told her repeatedly that all I want this year is money.
Well, the fog was rolling in off the bay and it was bitter cold as I came out in the street,
so it seemed like the night for a spaghetti dinner and some pleasant Italian hospitality,
down at Mama Caruso's restaurant on the Embarcadero opposite the ferry building.
But Mama Caruso had more than hospitality on her mind when she met me at the door.
Oh, Mr. Jackson, I'm so glad to find you.
I'm just calling your office.
What's the trouble, Mama?
Somebody been stealing ravioli?
Please.
It's my cousin Tony.
They tried to kill him.
Who?
What happened, Mama?
Come on, Mr. Jackson.
I'll make Tony tell you.
He does not feel so good, but he can talk all right.
You gonna see.
She led me to the back of the restaurant, the table where the family generally sits.
The family tonight was a man, small to start with, but even smaller, hunched down in his
chair miserably staring, unseeing into a glass of wine.
On the table in front of him was a battered old concertina.
The top of his head was swabbed in a clean new bandage.
Sit down, Mr. Jackson.
Go on, sit down.
This is my cousin, Tony Colucci.
Tony, this is my good friend, Mr. Man Jackson.
Hello, Tony.
Hello.
Go on, Tony.
You tell him, Mr. Jackson, what's happened on you.
Well, I'm on the boat.
Yeah, what boat?
The ferry boat, Oakland ferry boat.
Don't you never hear my music on the boat?
You play the concertina on the ferry ride.
Sure, no more.
Tonight they tried to kill me.
Well, you play pretty well, don't you, Tony?
I play perfect.
What's the matter?
Some people don't like it, I guess.
Tonight on the six o'clock boat.
Oh, boy.
Tonight on the six o'clock boat what?
Well, I play inside the first by the sandwich place and everybody say, oh, boy, Tony, you're
good, you play good, play some more.
Ten cents a year, five cents, two quarters even.
Then I go up the stairs.
Oh, boy.
Oh, boy.
And?
Then I go out on a deck.
It's very misty and foggy, so black, I can't see nothing.
I'm very happy.
I feel like I could play some more.
So I walk way back and open down the deck and I make a music.
Then all of a sudden I hear somebody say something to me.
I can't see nobody.
I hear him.
And what do you think he said to me?
Bravo, Tony.
I have no idea.
What did he say?
Yeah.
What?
He say, Cospadour.
Cospadour, as in bar rooms?
Cospadour.
Well.
So I say back on top of him, Cospadour.
I still can't see nobody.
So then I hear him say, is that you play Boris?
So I get mad.
I say, no, I don't play Boris.
I play Pagliacci, butterfly, Tlatosca, Povatore.
My don't play Boris.
That's a foreign stuff.
Yeah, I see.
Then?
Then I'm sorry I say that.
But because of this fellow, he sounds like he's a foreigner.
So I'm just going to say, look, mister.
And oh, boy.
Yeah, what, Tony?
What?
Patron!
I get a hit on the head.
I fall down.
I'm bleeding.
I drop my concertina.
My head got a big hole on the top.
I let out a big yell.
Then I black out.
Oh, boy.
People come running around.
And good luck.
There's a doctor on board.
They carry me down the stairs and he fix me up.
Otherwise, I'm going to die for sure.
Yeah, yeah.
And you never saw the guy?
No, I never saw him.
Well, what did it feel like?
I mean, what did he hit you with?
Well, it felt just like a baseball bat.
But the doctor, he said that...
Oh, look, look.
He said the doctor now.
He just come in.
Hey, doctor!
The doctor looked in our direction when Tony called and strode over to the table.
A big six foot three blonde guy in the Joe McCrae Gary Cooper tradition.
You had to like him right away.
No bedside manner to this doctor, although he could have had as much of it as he liked,
but he was all business and no kidding.
But I told you to go to bed and stay there.
Well, Doc, I just...
You may have a concussion.
I'll be back in an hour and then we'll take some x-rays.
My name is Man Jackson, doctor.
I'm a friend of the family.
Ames, Dr. Oscar Ames.
How are you?
Dr. Ames.
Mr. Can I get you something to eat?
No, thanks.
Smells wonderful, but I haven't time.
I'll have a cup of coffee, maybe.
Sure.
Mr. Jackson?
Yes, please, mama.
Doctor, you want me to make Tony go to bed?
Go on now, Tony.
You lie down.
I'll be back and we'll check you over.
Get some rest in the meantime.
But all right, ma'am.
I'm Dr. Ames.
I don't know.
X-rays and the whole thing.
How am I going to pay you?
Never mind that.
That's why we charge our knob-hill patients a little extra.
So we're able to do something like this once in a while.
This will be on me, Tony.
You're a good kind man, doctor.
I don't know what to say.
Look, you go on and lie down, Tony.
You're embarrassing the doctor.
Okay, okay.
It's a screwy thing, this one, isn't it, doctor?
Sure is.
Here's your coffee, gentlemen.
Oh, thanks.
Thank you, mama.
Yeah, sure is.
I'm a cyber maniac, it looks like, Mr. Jackson.
Man Jackson, are you the columnist, man overboard?
That's right.
Well, I read you all the time.
Amusing, intelligent, and you've got a heart.
Isn't that a little unusual for a columnist?
Well...
Say, what is all this tonight down here?
Newspaper men, police?
Police?
How do you mean police?
Well, I think they were police.
Five or six plain clothes guys.
They were waiting here on the side when the ferry pulled into the slip.
They're still there holding the boat.
I just left them.
What were they doing?
Oh, they're talking to all the passengers as they come off.
Asked us for identification.
They took one passenger away with them.
Huh?
Red-haired girl, carrying a package, paper parcel.
What did they think about Tony's little experience, getting knocked on the head?
Oh, they were mighty interested, naturally.
Especially when I told them how I thought the wound had been inflicted.
Which was?
Gunbutt.
Gunbutt, eh?
Well...
I'd say so.
Hey, I gotta go.
Take that dreary ride again.
What, the ferry?
Yeah, I've got a patient over in Oakland.
Had to come back over here to pick up some serum.
Well, nice to have seen you, Jackson.
Tell what's his name, uh, Tony...
Oh, wait a minute, Doc.
I've got nothing to do.
I'll ride over with you.
We crossed the street, went into the ferry building.
Everything was normal enough in the main waiting room where I stopped to buy cigarettes
and a pocket flashlight.
But outside on the dock where the Oakland boat was waiting to take off, there were a number
of extra characters whom you wouldn't think would have chosen a dismal, chilly night like
this for waterfront lounging.
There wasn't anybody I knew, and in any gathering of plainclothesmen, local variety, I generally
spot one or two familiar faces.
But Dr. Ames and I got aboard, followed by three of these gentlemen.
The broadest one, who was built for endurance, exchanged pleasantries with us as the boat
moved out into the water.
Hello, Dr. Ames.
I say you didn't miss a boat, like he'll say.
No.
Oh, you're one of the fellows I talked to before when we landed.
That's right.
I don't think I got your name.
Connelly.
Uh, this is Mr. Jackson.
Yeah?
Would that be Lieutenant Connelly or Sergeant maybe?
Just Connelly, no special title.
How's the little fellow doing, Dr. Colucci?
Tony, he's under care.
He, uh, talk anymore?
Say anything interesting?
I didn't talk to him.
Mr. Jackson here did.
Oh?
Really?
Really.
What'd he have to say?
Well, uh, you see, I'm an old friend of his family.
What he told me was in confidence, and I'd really have to know a little more about who
I'm telling his secrets to.
I see.
Jackson, your name is?
Still is.
Nice to meet you, Ghost Buddy.
Ghost Buddy?
It means nothing to you.
It might.
Yeah, it might.
Ghost Budean sounds like another word.
Somebody might think you said Cuspidore.
That's very funny.
Are you going to stay out here on deck?
Well, we haven't made up our minds.
Is that okay?
I ought to go inside, have a little coffee at the snack bar.
Comfortable.
Rides over before you know it.
Out here, it's foggy, wet, and miserable.
Well, I'm going in.
I'll see you later.
Bye-bye, Doc.
Well, maybe he's right.
Although I must say he's not my favorite man in the world, that Mr. Conley.
It is strictly pneumonia weather out here on deck.
Shall we go in?
Not just yet for me.
I think I'll stretch my legs a little.
Dr. Ames, where was it that Tony got conked?
On the upper deck, I know, but which side?
We've turned around now, starboard.
Just about directly above where we're standing.
Yes, right about...
Doc, Doc, don't point.
Our friend Conley and his boys are on their way out to see us again.
No, they went back in.
You think they're as mysterious as they seem?
Oh, definitely that.
You know what made them turn back just now, decide it wasn't necessary to check whether
we were still here?
No, what?
Our cigarettes.
They can't make us out here.
It's too dark, but they can see two lighted cigarettes.
I'd like to get up there on that upper deck.
Looking for tomorrow's column, huh?
You want to get up there and know around where Tony was, is that it?
Well, that's the idea, but those mugs in there...
I've got it.
Hand me your cigarette.
I'll smoke them both a yard apart.
When they check, we'll both still be here.
Masterful thinking, Oscar.
Go ahead.
I'll be here.
So I tried the slippery stairs to the upper deck.
The fog was as wet as rain.
I couldn't see any more than inches ahead of me with my flashlight.
I stopped about a midships and looked down over the rail.
Dr. Oscar Ames and his two cigarettes, tiny red dots of light were almost directly beneath
me.
I turned back from the rail and my foot squashed into something that sounded like an egg shell.
I bent and picked it up.
It was a mother of pearl ornament like the ones Tony's concertina were covered with.
A sudden noise over my head made me shoot my light up.
A piece of canvas had suddenly ripped loose from the top of the lifeboat.
Well, I got up there somehow and looked.
The canvas had been ripped open with a knife, a hole large enough for a man's body to get
through.
And that's what was in there.
A man's body.
He'd been stabbed in the neck.
This was the man who had slugged Tony, or so it seemed, because the gun was still clenched
in his right hand, the barrel reversed.
Well, my flash caught a speck of something white in one of his shoes.
It was a bit of paper with two typewritten lines on it.
I let myself down to the deck and prepared to read the note, and that's when my flashlight
went dead.
I groped about until I found a faint ghostly glimmer of light overhead, out over the edge
of the ship on the outside rail.
I climbed over, steadied myself, and lit a couple of matches.
It said International Postcard Shop, Geary Street, SF, reading card for Boris.
I put the bit of paper in my pocket and turned to climb back over the rail, and then something
came at me from the back.
It caught me full in the center of the board, and I fell crashing over the side.
They tell you a lot about what you remember when you're going down for the third time.
You know what I remembered?
I remembered that Gospodin is Russian for comrade.
Auto Light is bringing you Mr. Paul Douglas in Man Alive, tonight's presentation in radio's
outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Well Hap, let's talk turkey.
Okay Harlow, gobble away.
Well I say give the bird two worn out spark plugs and replace them with a set of ignition
engineered auto light spark plugs, like the amazing auto light resistor spark plug for
example.
You're really crow about that Harlow.
Yes sir Hap, because the auto light resistor spark plug is the greatest advancement in
spark plugs for automotive use in the past 20 years.
You see, the auto light resistor spark plug has something extra, and that's the exclusive
auto light built in 10,000 ohm resistor.
Because of this exclusive extra, auto light resistor spark plugs give you such outstanding
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And the auto light resistor spark plug is only one of a complete line of ignition engineered
auto light spark plugs for every use.
So see your auto light spark plug dealer soon.
And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with auto light.
And now auto light brings back to our Hollywood sound stage, Mr. Paul Douglas in Elliot Lewis's
production of Man Alive, a dramatic report well calculated to keep you in suspense.
I found myself mechanically keeping afloat somehow and trying to get out of my overcoat.
From out of the misty blanket, from every direction and a dozen different keys, from
near and far, foghorn sounded.
I floated on my back trying to figure where I was.
I was somewhere in San Francisco Bay, and that was all I knew.
The water was chilling me, and I turned over and began swimming, just hard enough to keep
the blood circulating.
The lights of a boat came into sight suddenly, and I threw back my head and yelled, but the
horn crying its warning drowned me out, and the boat went on and the fog closed in behind
me.
And then I found myself full of a strange, wonderful weariness.
The water wasn't cold anymore.
I was warm, with a comfortable, soothing numbness.
My head stopped throbbing.
There was no feeling at all in it now.
There was nothing, nothing anywhere.
And then some lights came into my eyes, and I wanted to stay in the dark, and I turned
my face down into the embrace of the water.
And then I wasn't where you'd expect at all.
I was lying on a baggage truck that was moving.
People were crowding around, walking beside the truck, staring at me.
The guy in uniform, wheeling me, noticed I had opened my eyes.
Well, hello, pal.
Welcome back to the United States.
Well, hello.
What part of the United States?
It's landing in Sausalita, a lace hill.
We're taking you over to the hospital.
Sausalita?
How long before that boat goes back to San Francisco?
It leaves right away.
Well, I'm going with it.
Hey, wait there.
You ain't in no condition.
Thanks.
I'll be okay.
Half an hour later, shivering and shaking in my wet clothes and keeping my mouth clamped
tight so my teeth wouldn't sound like a dice game, I climbed into a taxi at the ferry building
and went to my apartment.
There, I swallowed a half a pint of whiskey, rubbed myself with a coarse towel until my
skin was sore.
Then I looked in the pocket of the soggy suit I'd hung up to dry.
It was still there.
The piece of paper from the dead man's shoes, damp but legible.
International postcard shop, Geary Street, SF, greeting card for Boris.
I got up to put on a dry suit and then I changed my mind and put the wet one back on.
Good evening.
Good evening.
Are you the proprietor here?
That's right, sir.
Six years at the same location.
You...
Oh, my goodness.
Is it raining out?
You really got...
Dousing, yes, I did.
Nice collection of postcards.
From all over, South America, every place.
I bribed myself on having the most complete possible selection.
Was there something you had especially in mind?
Yes, there was.
I'm looking for a greeting card for Boris.
You...
What's the matter?
Didn't you hear me?
Yes.
Didn't you understand then?
Well...
Well what?
It's only that I didn't exactly expect somebody like you.
What did you expect?
Somebody slinking around in a false mustache, wearing dark glasses and an invinous cape?
You know, your type of thinking.
You may not be the right man for this job, Gospedin.
Oh, now wait, please, Mr. Lubov.
I thought you were dead.
You drowned.
Yeah, yeah, who told you that?
Well, you know.
Yes, well, I didn't drown.
I jumped in the water when I heard him coming.
You can still see how wet I am.
Of course.
So you escaped.
Easily.
Well, enough talk.
Hand it over.
The greeting card for Boris.
Very well.
Let's see.
That's San Francisco, of course.
He turned and reached his hand down under the counter and came up with a box marked special.
From this, he extracted something and handed it to me.
I took it with a knowing expression on my face, but I didn't know from nothing as to
what it meant.
All it was was an ordinary postcard.
That's all.
A picture postcard showing the Golden Gate Bridge.
Beneath it, the caption, Wonder Cities of the World, number 251235679, San Francisco.
Nothing else.
I'm afraid my mouth was open.
What's the matter?
Matter?
Don't you know how to read the name?
It's so difficult, of course.
Idiots.
Certainly I know how.
I was just admiring the work.
That's all.
Oh, it is excellent, isn't it?
You better go now.
We've been here an awfully long time.
We don't want...
No, of course we don't.
I'll go, Gospedin.
Gospedin, I'm sorry to have been overly cautious.
There is no such thing as over-caution.
Oh, thank you.
You were so...
Well, you seem like an American.
So do you.
I strode out into the street, clutching my postcard, but I shoved it inside my sleeve
a moment later because who I saw standing under the misty glimmer of a streetlight waiting
for me was my heavyset mysterious friend from the ferryboat, Connelly.
I turned my head around and glanced down the other end of the block behind me.
The other two guys were there, sure enough.
They advanced slowly toward me with their hands raised, palms out, as if they were showing
me they weren't carrying guns.
I waited.
Then all of a sudden Connelly rushed me.
I caught him on the chin and he went down clattering into an ash can.
The other two boys grabbed me and held my arms behind me.
Connelly got up rubbing his face.
I waited to get murdered.
But no.
All right, Joe Lewis.
Bring him along.
And so they did.
We didn't go far.
Just around the corner to a little hamburger place that had a sign in the door saying,
closed, although there were lights inside.
Connelly knocked on the door and a fellow with an apron came and opened it and locked
it after us.
Connelly gave them a nod and we sat down at the table while he brought us coffee.
Well, Jackson, we've checked on you.
You seem to be OK.
You stand in good with the department, friend.
What department would that be, friend?
This department.
Government?
Oh.
Maybe you can help.
Anyhow, we don't want you going around making a noise and messing it up for us.
So here it is.
I'm all ears.
Ever hear of a man called Boris Kargamensky?
No.
Not many people have, even in Russia.
Boris Kargamensky is the top Soviet agent of America.
He's the head man.
He organizes and runs everything for him here.
I see.
Now, he came to this country seven years ago and vanished.
We've been trying to find him ever since.
False passport, of course.
That didn't help.
There's nothing anywhere on Kargamensky.
No pictures, even in Russia.
No fingerprints, nothing.
Every lead we had, dead end.
And then last week...
Well, go ahead, drink your coffee.
No, no, it's all right.
I'm too interested.
Last week we heard that another agent, an important little guy named Lyubov, was on
his way to San Francisco and that he would definitely have to contact the big gun, something
to do with the Chinese war business that only Kargamensky is big enough to handle.
Well, our man tailed Lyubov all the way out here and then lost him at the Oakland ferry.
That didn't bother us very much.
He called us and we were waiting on this end.
But in pulls the ferry and no Lyubov.
Lyubov was the dead man in the lifeboat.
That's right.
He must have been up there waiting to be contacted.
Then he heard Tony and his concertina, thought that this might be it.
Then when he realized he'd made a mistake and uncovered himself, he conked Tony on
the head.
Right.
And his Soviet contact got scared and stabbed Lyubov.
So now we're back where we started.
Every passenger on the ferry was OK.
What's that you're looking at?
A picture postcard.
I found a message on Lyubov about the international postcard shop and a greeting for, hey, a greeting
for Boris, Boris Kargamensky.
Let me see that.
I bulldozed the guy into the shop into letting me have it.
It looks like nothing, just a picture.
But he said I could read the name.
Golden Gate.
Now, give me it.
Give me these numbers.
Wonder cities of the world, number two, five, one, two, three, five, six, seven, nine.
Wait a minute.
What?
What's the guy's name?
Boris.
B-O-R-I-S.
Leave a space.
K-A-R-G-A-M-E-N-S-K-Y.
Now, put numbers.
Wait a minute.
Now, the top number's nine.
All right.
Now, put one, two, three, four, five over Boris.
Yeah.
And start again.
One, two, three, up to nine over Kargamensky.
Uh-huh.
Nine.
Yeah.
All right.
Now, let's see the postcard.
OK.
I'll put it in the postcard.
OK.
And then I'll put it in the postcard.
OK.
And then I'll put it in the postcard.
OK.
And then I'll put it in the postcard.
OK.
Nine.
Yeah.
All right.
Now, let's see the postcard.
Two, five, one, two, three, five, six, seven, nine.
OK.
What's two?
Uh, two is O.
Five?
S.
O-S.
Now, Kargamensky.
One.
K.
Two.
Three.
A-R.
O-S-K-A-R.
Oscar!
Well, I guess we know the rest of it.
Five, six, seven, nine.
A-N-E-S.
Aims, correct?
Correct.
Oscar Aims.
Dr. Oscar Aims.
What?
I was just thinking, he was worried about me catching pneumonia.
I called Mama Caruso, and from what she said, we knew where to go.
We picked him up at the emergency hospital.
He was just finishing the operation on Tony's head.
We watched him through the glass, and the other young doctor standing alongside of us
said he was one of the greatest surgeons they'd ever seen.
When he unrolled his gloves and took off his operating mask, he looked up and saw me, alive,
and the other boys with me.
His scalp tightened for just a second, and then he smiled.
It was when he reached into his bag that we rushed him before he could get the little
red bottle to his lips.
Well, that's about it.
I made the morning edition okay.
On page 18, under my usual slug, Man Overboard by Man Jackson, they did a cute thing.
Under Man Overboard, it said, he really is.
See, page one.
And on page one, with a byline, was the story just as above.
Complete with a photograph of Dr. Oscar Aims.
A clean-cut, smiling, confident, typically American fellow.
The caption said, portrait of a spy.
Suspense, presented by Auto Light, tonight's star, Mr. Paul Douglas.
This is Harlow Wilcox speaking for Auto Light, world's largest independent manufacturer of
automotive electrical equipment.
Auto Light is proud to serve the greatest names in the industry.
They are members of the Auto Light family, as well as are the 98,000 Auto Light distributors
and dealers in the United States, and thousands more in Canada and throughout the world.
Our family also includes the nearly 30,000 men and women in 28 great Auto Light plants
from coast to coast, and Auto Light plants in many foreign countries, as well as the
18,000 people who have invested a portion of their savings in Auto Light.
Every Auto Light product is backed by constant research and precision built to the highest
standards of quality and performance.
So remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Auto Light.
Next week, the story of two men who could really talk, a young man and an old man.
Naturally enough, they were liars.
They also happened to be bank robbers.
The story is based on fact and is called The Big Heist.
For star Mr. John Hodiac, the program will be heard on Suspense.
Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with music composed by Lucian Morawak.
Man Alive was written for suspense by William Spear.
Featured in tonight's cast were Jeanette Nolan, Jane Avello, Fred McKay, William Conrad, and
Joseph Kearns.
Paul Douglas will soon be seen in the RKO radio production Never Wave at a Wack with
Rosalind Russell.
Remember next week, Mr. John Hodiac in The Big Heist.
This Thursday, Americans give thanks for all our blessings and especially our liberties.
The Auto Light family sincerely wishes you and your family a happy Thanksgiving.
This is the CBS Radio Network.