The story you're about to hear is true.
Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Fatima cigarettes, best of all long cigarettes, brings you Dragnet.
You're a detective sergeant. You're assigned to Blanco Detail.
An expert confidence man has resumed operations in your city.
His criminal record dates back 35 years. He's a master in the art of the gentle swindle.
Your job, stop him. If you want a long cigarette, smoke the best of all long
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Dragnet, the documented drama of an actual crime. For the next 30 minutes in
cooperation with the Los Angeles Police Department, you will travel step by step
on the side of the law through an actual case from official police files. From
beginning to end, from crime to punishment, Dragnet is the story of your
police force in action.
It was Tuesday, July 28th. It was warm in Los Angeles. We were working the day watch
at a Blanco Detail. My partner's Ben Romero. The boss is Thad Brown, Chief of
Detectives. My name's Friday. I was on the way back from the Record Bureau and it
was 10 45 a.m. when I got to room 38. Blanco Fugitive Detail.
Friday?
Captain, they're bringing him in now.
Sit down.
Thanks. Here's the mama sheet on him.
Oh, gentlemen Wallace. I thought he was out of our hair for good.
So did I. The list turned up. I heard he was working New York.
Look at the package in this guy. He's like a good-sized dictionary.
Yeah, check the date of his first arrest there.
June 2nd, 1913. He's been in and out of jail all over the country.
McLean County, Oregon, forgery. Bum-checked beef, San Francisco, 1914.
Besamut, Santa Ana. Parole violations, Seattle, Portland. More checks, Reno.
Billings, Montana, forgery, 1920. Dayton, Ohio, Pittsburgh, New York, Grand
Larceny. Bunko wraps, Las Vegas, Cleveland, Chicago.
That's only the first page. There's a couple more there.
He reads like a novel. Just about as long.
What's the story on Wallace this time? What have we got?
He reached a couple of used car dealers Saturday. Took them for 2,000 each and we can't touch
him. Why not? How'd he work it?
Saturday afternoon he went to a car lot in the corner of South 3rd and Washington.
He bought a 1948 Lincoln sedan. Showed him his identification, wrote a check
for $1,500 for a down payment and drove away. Another bum-checked deal.
That's a little more than that. About 45 minutes after he left, he drove
into another used car lot two blocks away from the place where he bought the Lincoln.
Told the salesman there that he didn't like the car and he wanted to trade it in on another
one. Salesman offered him $900 less than he paid
for it. Wallace accepted and offered them a personal
check to cover the balance. And the salesman went for it?
Almost. Wallace seemed so anxious to get rid of the
car that the clerk got suspicious, but it was late Saturday and he couldn't call the bank
on Wallace's check. So he called the place where Wallace bought
the car. That's right.
He found out that the sale was made less than an hour before and that Wallace had given
them his personal check for it. And then the two used car dealers got on the
phone, decided that Wallace was pulling a fast hustle, called a cop and had him jailed.
Hold that light a minute, will you? Thanks.
Well, then what? Well, when the banks opened Monday morning,
they called about Wallace's account. They had enough money in to cover both checks.
Wallace got a lawyer and threatened suit against the two car dealers. He had both of them cold.
They settled out of court for 2,000 a piece. Quick deal. Sounds like a master.
He's been grifting for 35 years. Knows the con game anyway they want to play it.
We can't even book him on a vague charge. He's got a job.
Who's he working for? Plastic outfit out in Pasadena. Salesman.
Is he registered under 5238? Yes.
No, just a minute. Yeah? All right, send him in.
Romero, he's got Wallace with him. Ben?
Wallace, this is Captain Bryson. Captain, I'm very happy to know you. I've heard a lot about you.
Yeah. Saturday, Friday, how are you?
I would like to talk to you, Wallace. Sit down. Oh, thanks.
Warm out today. Prespiring. Now, what is it I can help you gentlemen with?
Always glad to cooperate? You don't have to give us a buildup, Wallace. We're not buying.
You know me better than that, Sergeant. No point in making this visit an unpleasant one.
Codiality, that's a secret. My mother-in-law used to tell me that. She used to say...
Look, mister. You're not here to get the keys to the city hall. You're here for investigation.
I'm here out of courtesy, Captain. My lawyer informed me I didn't have to come.
I don't believe in making enemies, that's all.
You're a guy that's not trying. You've done pretty well, haven't you?
Now, how long do you plan to stay here in town? Los Angeles is my home. It's my place of business.
That's fine with us, Wallace, just as long as it's honest.
Now, let me hand you a piece of advice. You try copping any more jobs in this town,
we're gonna lean on you, understand? I don't think I do understand, Captain.
The incident with the used car dealers, I hope that isn't what upset you.
You guessed it, and it better be the last caper you try around here for a long time.
I had every right to take action against those car dealers. False arrests. They humiliated me.
They damaged my reputation. Here's your reputation, Wallace. 35 years of it.
Ten jail terms, larceny, bunko, forgery. Have you ever heard of rehabilitation, Sergeant?
Oh, yeah. I did my time. I don't owe them a day.
I've got an honest job. I've been off the grift for years now.
Then take a hint, Wallace. Stay off. You'll do better.
That's all, Wallace. Just remember, the next time we tag you, you're gonna fall hard.
You got it straight? Captain, I've been square since I got to town. I'm not switching.
Is that it? That's all.
Well, that wasn't so bad. Would you gentlemen care to have some lunch with me at the club?
Just a snack. No, thanks.
Sure, I can't persuade you. The club's just up the street. Fine food.
Some other time, Wallace. Goodbye.
Well, goodbye, Sergeant. Goodbye to you, Captain.
Yeah. Well, we gave him the word.
I don't know how much good it's gonna do. What do you think, Skipper?
Two things about grifters. They never retire and they never change. Watch him.
For the next four months, Charles Wallace was kept under surveillance.
From his daily actions, there was nothing to indicate that he'd return to his former profession of confidence man.
From experience, we knew it was too good to be true.
For a man who would work the con game from every conceivable angle for as long as Wallace had,
chances of his going straight amounted to less than one in a thousand.
Just as a dope addict, as a slave to drugs, the full-fledged con man or grifter is obsessed with the idea of swindling for a living.
He loves his work and he takes pride in it just as much as a doctor, a lawyer, or any legitimate professional man.
He has a life and a code of ethics all his own. He even has his own language.
The grifters' victims are wealthy, middle class, and poor, and many more than the average citizen imagines.
Wednesday, December 1st, 1 p.m. Ben and I had lunch and checked back in at the office.
Food's getting better at the cafeteria, don't you think?
Beef stew is pretty good. You got an extra coat hanger in your locker?
Oh yeah. Yeah, here you are.
Thanks. Hi, Conlon.
Joe. Do you see this report the post office detail sent over?
You mean that lonely heart thing?
No, this is a different one. A real twist.
How do you mean, Harry? Let me look.
That's the name he uses anyway.
A couple of weeks ago, he planted a small wand ad in the newspapers around town.
Been cleaning up ever since. How'd he work?
Here, take a look at the ad he was running.
Remember, tomorrow is the last day to send your dollar to Box 565, Main Post Office, Los Angeles. Was that all?
That's all it took. The last couple of days, he's been getting about 40 letters a day from people in this city.
With a dollar in each one.
Ad doesn't promise a thing. Just send your dollar. People send them.
They picked the guy up, Harry?
He called for the last batch of letters two days ago. Probably pulled out.
Postal inspectors checked the address he gave when he applied for the box. They never heard of him there.
Barney Grant. That sound familiar to you, Ben?
Little, yeah. Maybe R&I has a package on him.
Mm-hmm.
Friday, see you in a minute.
Right, Captain. Ben, you and Conlon want to check that name through R&I. I'll be in the list giver.
Yeah, okay, Jack.
Well, Friday, close the door, will you?
Sure.
This is Mr. Sawyer. He's with Western Central Railroad. Sergeant Friday.
Sergeant, how are you?
It's about Wallace Friday. Mr. Sawyer has a complaint against him. We've got the crime report.
Gentlemen Wallace?
Yeah. You want to fill him in, Mr. Sawyer?
Well, Sergeant, I'm employed as a standards engineer for the Western Central Railroad.
Wallace first approached me about a month ago. He said he was an inventor and he was working on plans of a new type of air brake for use on railroad cars.
Mm-hmm, go ahead.
He said he'd conceive the idea, but that he needed more time and money to perfect his invention.
He told me I'd share in half of the profits he got from his idea. It sounded more than fair.
How much money did you give him?
All I had in my savings account, 3,000. I talked it over with the wife and the idea looked real good on paper.
Yeah.
I didn't expect to make too much money for myself out of this, but I thought if I could get a hold of this braking system, it would certainly help the company out.
Mm-hmm. He took your money and you haven't heard from him since.
Well, I presented the plans to the chief specifications engineer in our Eastern office.
Yeah?
I got an answer yesterday, air mail. Our New York office has been working for two years on exactly the same set of brake plans.
And how do you get a hold of them?
From the patent bureau in Washington.
Oh, yeah.
The company has a patent pending on the new device.
Mm-hmm. It's all legal, isn't it?
Yes, yes. He simply got the information from them, drew up an exact copy, and submitted them to me.
He sold you an invention that your company already owned.
Yes, sir. And I'm out 3,000 dollars.
You know where Wallace might be now?
We've checked the boarding house where he was staying. He left there last night. No forwarding address, nothing.
We've got an all-out points bulletin on him. Do everything we can.
Well, thank you, Captain. Sergeant Friday.
Mm-hmm.
You have my card. If there's anything I can do to help, please call.
All right, Mr. Sawyer. Goodbye.
Goodbye.
How long are we looking for, Joe?
Well, let's see.
What's that, Romero?
On that phone he had the post office detail reported this morning.
Check the name Barney Grant through the crime index. That's the name of the guy you...
Yeah?
Oh, this is the package on Gentleman Wallace.
That's right. His alias list goes for three pages. Read them again.
Charles French, Walter Grant, Charles Grant, Barney Grant.
That's right. Gentleman Wallace, Barney Grant, same guy.
We got out a local broadcast, an APB, and a radiogram on Charles Gentleman Wallace.
For a full month, there wasn't a sign of him.
Then we received a communication from the Denver, Colorado Police Department.
Wallace had cashed worthless checks in that city in the amount of $2,500, and then he'd skipped town.
But before he left Denver, he managed another deal.
He sold 30 cartons of electric razors, which one, did not belong to him.
Two, had been stolen from another con man and resold.
And three, the razors didn't work in the first place.
The mechanisms had been taken out and replaced with lead weights.
Another 60 days passed before we got the next report on Wallace from Cleveland, Ohio.
By means of forged papers, two well-versed assistants to our ropers, and a fast line of talk,
Wallace had sold a Cleveland hardware concern, a shipment of 10 penny nails, much below the market price.
He collected $1,200 as partial payment for the shipment, but it was never delivered.
Eight a.m. Monday, March 3rd. Ben and I checked in for work after a weekend off,
and we found a message in the book to report to Chief of Detectives Thad Brown.
Chief, you wanted to see ya?
Come in.
Yes, sir?
Gentleman Wallace is back in town.
Where'd you get that?
A guy by the name of Patterson. So.
All right, thanks.
Hagen, I have Patterson brought to the interrogation room.
Is that the mouse Patterson's given?
Yeah, a small-time grifter. He was running with Wallace as late as a month ago, back in Pittsburgh.
When was Patterson picked up?
Last night at a big hotel out in Hollywood. He was working a fast deal.
You think he came to town with Wallace?
I know he did. One of Conlon's informants spotted Wallace and Patterson last night.
We nabbed Patterson, and Wallace slipped away.
We figured we'd been operating him out of the city for about two weeks.
Any idea what his angle is this time?
I think so. Take a look at this.
I bet you already noticed he slipped from the newspaper.
How do these tie in?
The con artist takes a dead man's name from the obituary list,
finds out a little bit about him, and writes him a letter.
He writes the dead man a letter.
Here's a sample we had reported to us. Read it.
William Radford, 233 South Brookway, Hollywood.
Dear Bill, I heard you were sick, and I didn't want to bother you at this time,
but believe me, I'm desperate.
I don't mean to hound you about the $400 you borrowed from me,
but we are having sickness in our family, and I do need the cash.
Wait a minute.
Wallace writes a letter like this to a man knowing he's dead,
and the family opens it and raises it.
And they figure it's some unpaid debt that they didn't know about,
which the deceased owed.
That's right. And the con man collects.
Yeah.
The letter's been showing up right in the middle of funeral arrangements.
The family's bereaved, bereaved stricken, caught off guard.
They don't suspect anybody could be that ruthless,
or they pay off what they think is a legitimate debt.
That sets a new load, doesn't it?
Excuse me.
Ron speaking.
All right, thanks.
I got Patterson in the interrogation room.
You two question him, find out everything you can.
Right, Chief.
When you're through talking to Patterson, you can start checking on these names.
What's this?
It's a list of all the names that appeared in the obituary column in today's paper.
It's a long list.
Don and Myberg are checking half. You and Romero take the rest.
Right.
Get to those families before Wallace does.
We went down the hall of the interrogation room
and questioned Patterson for an hour and a half.
He denied that he even knew Wallace.
He refused to tell us anything.
We had Patterson return to his cell in the county jail,
and Ben and I started to check with the relatives of the deceased
who appeared in the daily obituary list.
Adams, Connolly, Craig, Denberg, Donzetti, Edmonds, Fowler.
None of them had received letters claiming payment of secret debts owed by the deceased.
Well, there are more pleasant jobs
than bothering families with an investigation in the middle of their sorrow.
It wasn't easy, but it was necessary.
The eighth name on the obituary list was Foreman, Carl J.
He was survived by his wife, Jean.
She lived at 5821 Santiago Street out in the valley.
We're sorry to intrude at a time like this, Ms. Foreman.
We know how you must feel, but it's an important matter.
That's all right, Sergeant. Carl was sick for so long.
Probably better this way.
What did you want to know?
Since your husband passed away,
have you received any letters asking for payments on a debt that he might owe to somebody?
Funny you should ask. Yes, I have. I got it yesterday.
Yesterday, huh? Do you know the man who wrote the letter?
No, I didn't. I took it for granted that it was someone Carl knew in the Army.
Someone he borrowed from.
How much money was it he said your husband owed him?
Four hundred dollars.
There's a letter over the mantle. I'll get it for you.
Fine.
Here it is.
Thank you.
Signs his name Howard Michaels.
Has this man contacted you since?
Yes, he called me last night and said that he just heard about Carl.
He apologized for writing the letter.
Said he had some medical bills of his own to pay.
I went to the bank this morning and got the money for him.
Is there anything wrong?
And he's supposed to come here and get the money?
He already has about two hours ago.
He seemed to be a very good friend of Carl's.
Ben, you got that mug shot on.
Yeah. Yeah, I hear you.
I don't understand, Sergeant.
Is this the man who picked up the money this morning?
Yes, that's Mr. Michaels.
Don't you think he was Carl's friend?
I don't think so, Miss Foreman.
But no one would do that.
Who could be that low?
You're looking at his picture, Miss Foreman.
His name's Wallace.
You are listening to Dragnet.
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Over the past century, the confidence man here in the United States has earned the dubious title of aristocrat of the underworld.
Among small-time thieves, cutthroats, dope peddlers, pickpockets, and similar small fry, he's looked up to and respected.
The true con man does not consider himself a crook or a thief in the ordinary sense of the word.
He's smooth, courteous, fast-talking, and he lives by his own code of rules.
He never uses violence. He makes his living by his wits alone.
Generally, he's far above average intelligence, and he's totally without a conscience.
He thinks no more of fleecing a day laborer of his wages than he would of fleecing a millionaire.
Because of their carefully planned operations, only a handful of confidence men are ever brought to trial.
Monday, March 3rd, 6 p.m. Ben and I completed our interviews with the families of the deceased and returned to the office.
Hi, you two having luck?
Wallace is the guy we found out that morning.
Who identified him?
A woman out in the valley, a Mrs. Foreman.
Wallace poses as an old friend of her husband's, took her for 400 bucks.
How about Connell and Myberg, Captain? They get anything?
They haven't checked in yet. I'm waiting for them.
How does Mrs. Foreman make a payoff to Wallace? Through the mails?
He's a good officer. He came out and picked up the doing person.
And there's no chance of tracing him through the post office.
Seems like he comes up with a new ammo every day.
We checked out the rest of the families of the deceased on the list. The chief gave us no leads.
Don Myers and handwriting check the letter Mrs. Foreman got. The writing matches are the others. It's Wallace.
Hi.
Connell and Myberg with you?
Down the hall in handwriting, checking a couple letters with Myers.
Doing any good today, Harry?
Some. We found two families got phony letters through the mail. Same deal, Wallace.
They pay off to him yet?
Neither one. Told them to sit tight and call us if the guy should contact them again. Explain the setup.
Who are the people, Harry?
Let's see. One's an old fella. Oscar Dunn lives over in Highland Park. Others a pretty wealthy family. Bel Air.
Here it is. Elizabeth Secor. She's the wife. Husband's name Burton James Secor. Investment broker. Died day before yesterday.
How much of a debt is he supposed to evode?
The guy in the letter claims 1200 bucks. Signed himself William Kilbright.
The letters mention anything about how the payoff's supposed to be made?
The guy wrote he'd contact them by phone first. They make arrangements to meet him. Both families will call as soon as they hear from him.
Now if he doesn't change his M.O. we're set.
Connell, you and Myberg stick with the family in Highland Park. Make sure they understand perfectly what the setup is.
While it makes a contact, be there.
Okay, Cap.
Joe, you and Ben cover the family out in Bel Air.
Okay. You got Secor's address here?
Here's the crime report. It's got all the dope good.
I'll grab it.
Bunko, fugitive Conlon. Yes, ma'am? When?
All right, thanks. We'll take care of it.
Secor, as Wallace just called him.
What's the pitch?
Once it pays respect, he's going to visit him tonight.
7.35 p.m. Monday, March 3rd. Ben and I drove out to Bel Air, to the Secor place.
It was an English-type mansion with a circular driveway out in front.
The wake for Mr. Secor was being held in the living room. The butler showed us into the library where Mrs. Secor was waiting.
She told us everything had transpired since she first received a letter from Wallace following her husband's death.
She said Wallace had promised to be at her home promptly at 9 p.m.
We waited. 9 p.m. came and went.
We told her that if the suspect should call to make any concessions, we'd agree to anything in order to set up a meeting with him.
At 10 minutes past 10, the phone in the library rang. Mrs. Secor answered it. I listened in on the extension.
I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Secor. I did want to get out to pay my last respects, but I'm afraid that will be impossible.
Oh, I'm sorry you won't be able to come. I'd like to settle up that debt, the money that Burton owed you.
I do hope you understand, Mrs. Secor. It's very difficult for me to bring up such a subject at this time of your bereavement,
but I do have need of the money. You see, it's my wife. She's quite ill, and, well, there are medical expenses to be met.
Oh, I understand. When would you like to come for the money?
Well, would tomorrow be all right?
My husband's funeral is tomorrow.
Oh, I see. Well, where will that be?
At the cathedral on Sunset Boulevard, Arraquia Mass at St. Mary's at 9 o'clock.
Well, since I don't want to bother you personally anymore, I wonder if it would be possible for you to leave the cash with the head usher there at the church.
Well, yes, all right. I think that would be the best way.
All right, then. Good night, and thank you.
Yes, good night.
I'm sorry. I know that's not easy for you.
That's all right, Sergeant. It's strange, isn't it?
What's that?
One man burns out his whole life making money. The next man spends his time trying to steal it. What does it all mean?
I don't know. We've got 2,600 men down in the county jail, and we all think they've got the right answer.
Tuesday, March 4th, 9 a.m. in St. Mary's Cathedral on Sunset Boulevard, the final rites, Arraquia Mass, was being celebrated for Burton James Secor.
Ben and I were stationed at the rear of the church.
Conlon and Myberg, together with two other men from Bunko Detail, covered the side exits.
An extra detail of men were placed at strategic points around the cathedral.
The head usher stood a few feet from the main entrance.
With him, he carried a plain manila envelope filled with pieces of newspaper cut to resemble the size of currency, along with a single dollar bill.
He had instructions to hand over the envelope without question to the person who asked for it.
Fifteen minutes past nine, Joe.
Yeah. You see that head usher all right?
Yeah, I got him spotted.
All right.
Pretty good-sized crowd here. Secor must have had lots of friends.
Yeah.
Nice choir.
Just wondering, Joe.
What's that?
Suppose he doesn't show up?
That's possible. He might have gotten suspicious.
Could be.
What time you got now?
It's nine twenty.
Joe, look. Uniform messenger just came in the door.
Yeah. He's looking around. He's going up to the usher, talking to him.
That's it. Usher gave him the envelope. Messenger's leaving.
I know. Let's hold it. Give him a lead.
All right, let's go.
Now let's go, Ben. Don't lose him.
He's getting into that can. Come on.
Slide over. You got the cab number?
Yeah. Let's move.
Ten thirty a.m. Ben and I trailed the cab to a bus depot in downtown Los Angeles.
We followed the messenger in and watched him check the manila envelope in a key locker.
We waited. At eleven forty-five a.m. another uniform messenger entered the bus depot,
picked up the envelope and left.
We followed him to the Union Railroad Station where he left the envelope at the traveler's aid desk.
At three p.m. the envelope was still there, unclaimed.
No sign, Joe. What do you think?
I don't know. It's a pretty fancy switch he's got worked on.
Yeah. What time's the next train leave?
Three twenty-five. Coast limited for San Francisco.
It's three twenty-one now. Wait a minute.
See that porter over at the desk?
I told him that girl there. I don't know.
That's it. She's giving him the envelope. Come on, Ben.
He's heading up the ramp. Yeah. Let's hustle.
You turn up the lamp? Yeah. Passenger platform. Coast limited.
Not much time. Come on, run.
Come on, Ben. Where'd the porter get on? Next car. Come on, run.
Let's jump.
This way. Through here.
That the same porter? Yeah. He's knocked the door to that compartment, handing in the envelope.
That's it. Let's go.
It's locked. Knock.
Yes? What is it? An after.
Just a minute.
What is this? All right, Ben.
Now look, son.
What's that?
What is this? All right, Ben. Now look, Sergeant.
There's no need for any unpleasantness.
Certainly we can sit down and talk this thing over like intelligent human beings.
Grab the luggage, will you, Ben? All right, let's go, Wallace.
Look, wait a minute, please. I'm sure we can come to some agreement.
I have plenty of money. Look, right here alone in this envelope. I have plenty.
There's only a dollar here. The rest is newspaper.
Yeah. I've been taken. So have a lot of people. Let's go.
The story you have just heard was true. Only the names were changed to protect the innocent.
On June 23rd, trial was held in Superior Court, Department 87, City and County of Los Angeles, State of California.
In a moment, the results of that trial.
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Charles Gentleman Wallace was tried and convicted on four counts of grand theft and sentenced to the state penitentiary for the term prescribed by law,
with holes being placed on him by four other states.
You have just heard Dragnet, authentic cases from official files.
Technical advice for Dragnet comes from the office of Chief of Police W.A. Wharton, Los Angeles Police Department.
Dragnet wishes to thank the editors of True Detective Magazine for their considerate appraisal of this program.
For those of you who may be interested, the behind the scenes story of Dragnet appears in the March issue of True Detective.
Fatima cigarettes, the best of all long cigarettes, has brought you Dragnet from Los Angeles.
Tomorrow, hear the Ronald Coleman's in the charming series, Halls of Ivy, on NBC.