In just a moment, Suspense with Martha Scott.
Hey, it's time for the Auto Light radio show, Mom.
Better wake your dad up.
I know darn well he won't want to miss it.
Hey, Dad. This will get him.
Dad, who makes the stay full batteries?
Auto Light.
And who makes spark plugs and complete ignition systems for your car?
Auto Light.
And what radio show do the Auto Light people put on over CBS every Thursday night?
What? Hey, it's time for Suspense.
Switch on the radio, Billy.
The radio's on, dear. Just be quiet and listen.
Suspense.
Auto Light and its 60,000 dealers and service stations bring you Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills.
Starring tonight, Miss Martha Scott in Anton Lido's production of Crisis.
A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Mrs. Norquist. Mrs. Norquist.
It's the doctor, Mrs. Norquist.
What? Oh, coming.
Oh, I'm sorry, Doctor. I fell asleep.
I told you not to. I warned you.
I couldn't help it.
Let me see the baby.
How is he? Is he better?
Well, pneumonia's tricky. Temperature 106.
Oh, all day long it's been 106. If he'd only move, if he'd only cry.
Oh, Doctor, you've got to do something.
Mrs. Norquist, get hold of yourself.
Fasten that sheet down.
It's important that you don't let any of that steam escape.
All right. It's just that I'm so tired.
When will the nurse be here?
There won't be a nurse.
No nurse, but you said there...
I've tried everywhere. It's the worst epidemic since 1918. The hospitals are full.
Oh, but I can't go on without a nurse. I can't.
Well, isn't there someone who can help you? Some neighbor?
There's no one.
Well, what about your husband? When's he due back?
Two or three days.
Maybe you'd better send for him.
You don't mean the baby's...
Well, you can't keep this up. You need help.
Oh, I didn't want to worry Paul. This business trip's so important to him.
Besides, I expected to get a nurse. Why, he doesn't even know the baby's sick.
You'll have to do it alone then. How's the sulfur holding out?
I have enough.
Good. Now, don't neglect the steam for an instant.
Keep up the warm alcohol sponge bath. Don't leave his side.
I'll try to get back in the morning. And don't sleep.
No matter how tired you get, no matter how you scream for it, you must not sleep.
Here. Here, take these pills. They'll help you.
Thank you, Doctor. Doctor, is little Kurt going to make it?
Well, that you'll know one way or the other before morning.
Oh.
Crack that temperature tonight and he'll pull through. It's the crisis.
Poor baby. Little thin legs.
Kick the covers, darling. Kick them. That's what legs are for.
You don't want to give up now, Kurt. You're just beginning.
You haven't seen half there is. You've never thrown a snowball
or gone home run or gone fishing with your dad.
Oh, Kurt. Kurt, you should be in a hospital.
Not an homemade croup tent with a kettle of steam under your bed.
In a hospital with nurses in white starched uniforms.
Nurses who are awake, whose hearts don't break when they look at you.
I mustn't think about it.
Steam. A kettle under the bed. Steam to breathe.
Another kettle on the stove. Sponge baths every few minutes.
Every few minutes.
Temperature, 106.
How many times I took it, I don't know.
Nothing in the room seemed real or tangible anymore.
Nothing but the steam.
Steam.
I watched it hypnotized.
Now it was an eraser on a blackboard removing today's problems.
Now it was a windshield wiper pushing aside the rain so I could see ahead of me.
The vision slowly cleared.
And then I saw it. A light. No, six lights.
Bright flames, birthday candles, six birthday candles on top of a white cake.
Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday, little Kurt. Happy birthday to you.
Six years old. You're a big boy now, son.
I want my present.
Mercenary little creature, isn't he, Paul?
Hey, monkey, here it is.
Here, son, let me help you.
Leave it alone! Don't you dare touch it!
Now, look, here, Kurt.
Please, Paul, it's his birthday.
All right. Go ahead, unwrap it.
Well, Kurt, don't you like it?
No.
Why, Kurt Norquist, how can you say such a thing after your daddy bought you a wonderful fire engine?
Why didn't you get me one with one seat?
What's wrong with two seats?
When it's got two seats, you gotta let some other kid ride with you.
But don't you want to share your fun with your little friends?
I don't like nobody to have fun but me!
Kurt, you come back here.
Let him go, Paul.
Oh, but Mary...
He's just a little boy. He'll get over it.
Well, I hope so.
There were more birthdays, but as Kurt grew, a mounting fear began to grow in me, too.
He looked like a choir boy, but there was something else hiding back at those innocent eyes.
At eight, he forged his report card.
At ten, he stole some things from the dime store.
By the time he showed promise of being taller than his father, his personality, in spite of everything we tried to do,
was really beginning to whine.
You wanted to see me, Father?
Yes, I did.
Your mother and I are very concerned about you.
Again?
Why weren't you in school all week?
It bores me.
Where were you? What have you been doing?
Thinking. Just thinking.
What about Kurt? What is it you think about?
Is there something bothering you?
Yes.
What is it, son?
School. I have to go to school.
What about your mother?
Yes. What is it, son? School. I hate it.
But you like to read.
That's different. I read what I like.
I don't like to be told what to do.
But don't you understand? Everybody has to be guided and told what to do.
Sure, I understand. But I don't have to like it. And I don't like it.
Kurt, I'm surprised at you.
Is that all, Father?
Yes, yes, that's all.
I'm disappointed. I thought you were going to beat me.
You insolent...
Paul, Kurt! Please, please.
There's someone at the door.
What? Mr. Johnson?
Kurt home?
Yes, he is.
Hello, Paul.
Oh, Fred.
What is it this time?
Are you going to tell them Kurt or do you want me to?
I don't mind. I stole a watch from Evans's jewelry store.
A swell wrist watch.
A watch?
Kurt, we were going to buy you one for your birthday.
You didn't have to steal it.
It was more fun stealing.
Lots more fun.
This time I'll have to take him to the juvenile court, Mrs. Norquist.
Oh, no.
Fred, Fred, let me bring him down.
You go on. I want to talk to him.
Paul's face was gray with hurt.
His cheeks sagged and his eyes were bleak as he turned to Kurt.
I didn't want it this way, son, but maybe it's the only solution.
Maybe it'll help straighten you out.
You're not going to put me in a reform school.
Kurt! Kurt!
Paul was savage as he ran up the stairs after him.
Kurt slammed the bedroom door in his face and as Paul flung it open...
You've had this coming to you for a long time.
Oh, no, you don't. Keep away from me.
Kurt!
While lust was on Kurt's face and a gun was in his hand, his father's revolver,
I knew he'd do it even before it happened. Kurt!
Paul went limp as he turned to me with a look of shock surprise.
Mary.
Paul!
For suspense, Autolite is bringing you Miss Martha Scott
in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Phew. If that didn't wake you up, Dad, nothing will.
Wake me up? I wasn't asleep a while ago. I was just fooling you.
Fooling, huh? Then tell me what I said.
Just before suspense started? Yeah.
You asked me who made the Stafol battery.
Naturally, I said Autolite.
And when those Autolite people named it the Stafol battery,
they weren't talking through their hats either.
Why, that battery needs water only three times a year.
Get that, Billy? Only three times a year.
Golly. What's more...
That's fine, dear. But don't you think you ought to let Mr. Martin give the commercial?
Yes, folks, what Hap says is true.
Autolite Stafol batteries need water only three times a year in normal car use.
This means less trouble and care for you.
For Autolite's greater liquid reserve practically eliminates
one of the major causes of battery failure.
Car owners everywhere tell us the Autolite Stafol is the greatest battery ever built.
So, friends, visit your neighborhood Autolite dealer
and get an Autolite Stafol battery for your car.
Enjoy the advantages of extra plates and fiberglass insulation.
It means so much to long battery life.
And remember, Autolite Stafol batteries need water only three times a year in normal car use.
No doubt about it. Money can't buy a better battery for your car than Autolite.
And now Autolite brings back to our Hollywood sound stage
Miss Martha Scott as Mary in Crisis.
A tale well calculated to keep you in.
Suspend.
The visions continued to rise out of the steam clouds.
I found myself sitting beside Paul's bed.
He was out of danger.
Accidental shooting while cleaning a gun, that's what Paul told the doctor.
I wanted to tell the truth but I wouldn't hurt him any further.
No, Kurt didn't go to the reform school. We hushed that up too.
Lies, lies suffocating us.
We shrank, Paul and I crawled into our shells, confused, disillusioned, afraid of our only son.
But Kurt grew and so did his misdemeanors
until he was a handsome giant with the face of a Viking saint and no soul at all.
The incident with Elaine McGregor proved that.
I was transplanting geraniums on the other side of the hedge.
I didn't mean to eavesdrop.
But what's going to happen to us?
I wouldn't know.
Doesn't it make any difference to you?
Should it?
It's easy for you, isn't it?
What did you expect?
Nothing really.
You're in a class by yourself, Kurt.
You've got the heart of a tapeworm but you're not going to eat into me.
Very pretty speech. I didn't know you were so valuable.
But what does it mean?
It means I'm lucky. I can walk out of your life, you can't.
You've got to live with yourself.
You're rotten, Kurt, rotten all the way through. You warp everything you touch.
You destroy all the decent things around you.
Decent.
I despise you.
I thought you loved me, madly.
You can't love a snake. You can only be charmed by it.
Goodbye, darling.
Mother, you can come out from behind there.
Kurt, how could you?
Mother, I knew you were there all the time.
I didn't mean that. I mean the way you treated Elaine.
Oh, Kurt, maybe marriage would be good for you.
Come, come, Mother. First you want me to get a job, any job.
Now, you wouldn't want me to get married at my age, would you?
I'm just a child.
No, Kurt, not you. You've never been a child.
Everything he did seemed to be aimed at hurting someone.
And always it pleased him.
And then one day, as suddenly as you turn over a page, Kurt was different.
He slammed the front door and he was whistling.
He was gare than I'd ever seen him.
Hi.
Well, what are you so gay about?
The proverbial leaf has been turned.
And you see before you a hardworking young man.
Kurt, you've got a job.
That's right, Mother, a job.
At the lumber yard?
Don't be silly. I'm a banker.
A banker? What bank?
First National. Mr. Cox was very nice about the whole thing.
Your father's bank? Then Paul got you the job.
You talk like the old man owns the place. He's just a teller.
Then how did you get the job?
I talked to Mr. Cox.
Kurt, what did you tell Mr. Cox?
You should have been there, Mother. I melted the old boy's heart.
He swallowed the whole thing.
Swallowed what?
What did you tell Mr. Cox?
Don't get melodramatic, Mother.
I merely told him that I had to go to work because we needed the money.
That I liked the idea of working in a bank.
You know, like father, like son.
Oh, needed the money? Oh, Kurt, you didn't.
You didn't humiliate your father that way.
But you wanted me to get a job.
Kurt, ever since you've been old enough to think, you've been bad.
You've caused your father nothing but heartache.
You're aging him, draining all the joy out of his life.
And now this... this crowning humiliation.
But I'm warning you, Kurt.
If you cause your father any more sorrow,
if you hurt him just once more, I'll... I'll...
Kill me?
Bravo, Mother. Now, now let's have the second act.
You... you feet!
It was the first time I ever slapped him.
But I knew then there would never be any peace for us.
That he would go on and on until there was nothing left.
No honor, no decency, nothing.
But even I didn't suspect the depth of his malignancy until...
he was still left.
Paul was coming up the walk alone.
His step was slow, his back was stooped,
and his face was lined and tortured.
I... I opened the door for him.
Paul? Paul, what's wrong?
I've been fired.
Fired? After 22 years?
There was a shortage this morning. A thousand dollars.
A thousand? Oh, surely they... they don't think you took it.
You've handled millions of dollars down there
and never touched a penny of it. How could...
Kurt took it, didn't he?
Yes.
And you took the blame?
Not exactly.
He's very clever, Mary. He's...
devilishly clever.
He worked hard, he did his work well.
I thought...
I tried to kid myself anyway that he was outgrowing his badness.
It was all part of a warped scheme.
He won the respect of everyone in the bank,
and very simply stole the money and planted the evidence.
It led straight to me.
Why didn't you tell Mr. Cox what we've been through,
what a bad boy he is?
There are records at juvenile hall. We... we could prove it.
You know what Mr. Cox said to me?
He said he wouldn't prosecute because of my wonderful son.
My wonderful son. I never had a son.
I couldn't look at him, Mary.
When I walked out of the bank, Garvey and Cage One didn't even say goodbye
or good luck or too bad or anything.
He just got suddenly too busy to look up.
He forgot all about the months we lay in the mud together
at Tarrow and the Navy Crosses. We went on the same day.
Garvey was too busy to look up.
I couldn't tell him the truth. I'm not strong like you, Mary.
I can't take it anymore.
He was looking at me, but he didn't see me.
His eyes were covered with a film of tears.
Then he turned and staggered out of the house.
He walked like he was drunk.
Yes, that's what he was, drunk with despair.
He got in the car. I wanted to go to him to hold him in my arms,
but I couldn't. I was frozen.
The car lurched away from the curb, skidded around the corner.
It was like a madman, driving.
I wasn't surprised when they called me from the hospital.
Reckless driving, they said, accidental death.
But I called it something else.
I called it murder.
At that moment, I died too.
I went through the motions of living at the cemetery.
I kept on not counting the days coming or going.
One day I realized Kurt was 25, a man.
A handsome, ruthless man.
We lived in the same house, but we had nothing to do with each other.
Until one November afternoon, I was in the kitchen making an apple pie.
It had always been Paul's favorite.
Suddenly, the room was throbbing with Paul's presence.
Paul! I dropped the knife on the floor and ran up the stairs into my bedroom.
Mine and Paul's. I was wild out of my mind.
I turned about the room, everywhere searching. I needed him terribly.
I could feel his presence, and yet it wasn't enough.
It had to be something tangible, something I could touch.
And then I remembered the Navy Cross and the Purple Heart.
They were his, they were part of him.
I pulled out the shirt drawer and threw his shirts on the bed.
The Purple Heart was there and it sat in line box.
But the Navy Cross was gone.
Paul! Paul! Paul!
Paul! Paul!
The room was dark. I lay there for quite a while.
I had no reason to get up.
Kurt was home.
I tidied the bed and spread it up, ran a comb through my hair.
I walked along the hallway to his room.
Yes?
You want something? I'm in a hurry.
Yes, I do want something.
Your father's Navy Cross. Where is it?
Oh, that. I was holding three aces when I ran into a straight.
Jack Carn said he'd take the cross in lieu of five bucks.
How do you like a guy like that?
I looked at Kurt for a long time.
Then I walked away. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
Not that day or any other day.
Not even later when the policeman came to the door.
I have a warrant for the arrest of Kurt Norquist.
On what charge?
Murder.
It was a colorful trial. Murder in the first degree.
The front pages were blotched with it.
Little shop girls hurried to buy the evening editions of the sordid testimony
to read on their way home from work.
I went to the trial every day and listened with this strange sense of unreality.
Sure I killed him.
All I could think was that flashing handsome young man up there
admitting to murder and worse is my son.
No, I didn't hate him. I didn't even know him very well.
Why don't I feel anything?
I just wanted to see what it was like. That's all.
Why don't I shudder with disgrace? Why don't I crawl off into a corner and die?
Sorry? What for? He's dead, isn't he?
The trial went on for days and Kurt was unmoved.
Insolent, triumphant almost.
Even as his wretched soul made ready for the lethal chamber, he was untouched.
In there, madam. Five minutes.
Thank you.
Well, hello, mother.
Mother? Oh, yes, I am your mother.
Oh, you brought me some cigarettes. Thanks.
Well, I wonder what it's going to be like.
What?
You know, that last mile.
I'm a queer guy, all right.
I don't feel sorry about anything.
As a matter of fact, I don't feel anything at all.
Never did.
Except that maybe this is a good smoke.
I looked deeply into his face, beyond the pale blue eyes, into the black soul.
I gave him life, but I couldn't give him honor.
He exhaled. Smoke came out of his mouth and nose and spun around him, enveloping his face, framing it in a circle of fog.
Then he smiled.
Not the smile of a murderer, more the slow, wistful smile of a small boy.
And abruptly his face was changed.
I've been here before.
I watched the smoke rings as they billowed upward. I couldn't take my eyes off them.
And each smoke ring was a face, Kurt's face.
And the faces kept changing, getting smaller and smaller.
The eyes were round, full of wonder, changing, and slowly the vision faded.
They all converged into one face.
And Kurt was a baby again.
In a crook tent.
Fighting for the right to live a useless life.
I've seen ahead. That's what it was.
I know what's in store for him, and it's all bad.
Steam. Steam. Not much left.
In a moment there won't be any.
Oh, let him go.
He'll turn out bad. No good, not worth my tears. It won't be wrong.
Let him go.
Steam. It's gone.
I won't get the kettle.
It isn't wrong. Let him go.
No. No. Little Kurt, wait. Don't go.
Steam. Kettle. Kettle.
Don't take him home, please. He's just a little baby. He doesn't know.
Steam. I must take his temperature.
Oh, I'm afraid.
Crisis.
Temperature. 106. Six tenths.
107. Oh, no. No.
He's gone. He's gone. He's dead.
Kurt. Kurt. You're alive.
Hold on, baby. Hold tight.
The kids got in my way as I held the thermometer to the light.
I brushed them off and then I looked.
The mercury stood at 106. 105. 103.
You're going to get well, Kurt.
Temperature 101. Grow strong and handsome.
Temperature 100. And good, Kurt.
You're going to be good.
Please, God. Please.
Thank you, Martha Scott, for a splendid performance.
Miss Scott will be back in just a moment.
Billy, would you mind getting me a glass of water, dear?
You ought to install a stay-full battery, Mom.
Billy. Sure. Then you'd only need to take a drink three times a year.
Oh, you men. Can't you talk about anything but that auto light battery?
Now, look, honey, if you wanted to go downtown tomorrow morning
and the car wouldn't start, you'd be pretty mad, wouldn't you?
Why, of course I'd be mad. Sure, so would anybody.
That's one reason why we have a stay-full battery in our car.
And listen to this. Yes, friends, auto light stay-full batteries
are designed to save you trouble and care by practically eliminating
one of the major causes of battery failure, lack of water.
You see, auto light stay-full batteries need water only three times a year
in normal car use.
And remember, when it comes to automotive electrical parts,
auto light means batteries.
Stay-full batteries.
Auto light means spark plugs.
Ignition engineered spark plugs.
Auto light means ignition systems.
The lifeline of your car.
And now here again is Miss Martha Scott.
It's been a real pleasure to appear on Suspense tonight.
You know, I never miss hearing the program whenever possible,
and I'm going to make a special effort to be at my radio next Thursday night
when Van Heflin stars in a story called Song of the Heart,
a gripping study in...
Suspense.
Miss Martha Scott is currently appearing in the RKO production
So Well Remembered.
Tonight's Suspense play was written by Gwen and John Bagney
with music composed by Lucian Morawick and conducted by Lud Gluskin.
The entire production was under the direction of Anton M. Lieder.
Next Thursday, same time, you will hear Van Heflin in Song of the Heart.
This is the Auto Light Suspense Show.
Drive carefully.
Save a life.
It may be your own.
Good night.
Switch to auto light.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.