Ladies and gentlemen, the story you are about to hear is true.
Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
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You're a detective sergeant.
You're assigned to juvenile bureau.
A rash of crimes has broken out in your city.
Suspicion points to an organized gang of juveniles.
Your job, stop them.
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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 Sunday, March 27th.
It was windy in Los Angeles.
We were working a night watch out of Georgia Street Juvenile Bureau.
My partner's Ben Romero.
The boss is Ed Backstrand, Chief of Detectives.
My name's Friday.
I was on the way up from the Juvenile Bureau and it was 11.25 p.m. when I got to the receiving
hospital room five, the treatment room.
Everything happens on Sunday nights, huh, Joe?
Yeah.
How's the kid making out, Doc?
The one arm is cut up badly.
Nothing fatal, though.
How'd it happen?
That's what I like to find out.
Can I talk to him?
If you want, don't press him.
Know he's had a bad shock.
All right.
Officer here to talk to you, son.
I can't.
Tell him I can't talk, please.
Just a few routine questions, son.
You're going to have to answer them sooner or later.
Please, can't you see what's happened already?
I can't tell you anything.
Jack Monroe, is that your real name?
Yeah.
How old are you?
I'll be 60 next July.
When do you live?
I can't tell you, you know that.
Now, let me alone, will you?
Let me alone.
You've been running around with that gang of kids on Spring Street, haven't you?
The big timers, isn't that what they call themselves?
I don't know anything about it.
Believe me, I can't talk.
You tipped us off about the burglary they were going to pull tonight.
Is that where they knifed you?
Look, will you believe me?
I can't tell you anything, not anything.
Please.
He's still shaky, Joe.
All right, Doc.
Well, Jack, we'll talk about it later when you feel better.
You see what they've done to me already?
They said next time they'd kill me.
Juvenile Bureau, Friday.
Yeah.
Yeah, OK, friend.
Goodbye.
How'd you make out, Joe?
Not very good, Ben.
Captain Bowling come in yet?
He checked in while you were gone, wants to see us.
OK.
Did the kid tell you who knifed him?
No, I scared him good.
He wouldn't tell me a thing.
Did you get a line on the boy's parents, Friday?
I got a hold of his father.
He's on his way in.
How's the boy?
Bad knife wounds, nothing fatal.
You know the boy?
Not till this afternoon, Captain.
He tipped us off about a burglary a gang of young kids were supposed to pull tonight.
Would go through?
No, but two hours ago, this Monroe kid was found in a vacant lot down on Olympic, cut
up pretty bad.
The gang must have pegged him.
How long is it going to take you to break that up?
We're just starting to get a line on him, Bob.
There's been nearly a hundred in that gang.
And every one of them working hard.
Take a look at the pin map over here.
This spot here, look at it.
All the jobs pulled during the last month, huh?
The last five weeks up to date.
Red tabs for burglary, must be more than a hundred.
The robberies, green pens, count them, at least 50.
There's five more orange ones added for the weekend, auto thefts.
You bet those kids are working hard.
We got a lead on them, that's more than we had last week.
You have to push it harder.
Here's the big reason.
This line of pens, brown and black.
Purse snatchings.
Purse snatching and rape, 26 of them in the past five weeks.
They're pretty well concentrated in one area here.
That's right.
Now what's the lead you're working on?
Right there on the pin map, Gab.
Huh?
Well, these two blocks here, Bob, where Franco Alley intersects Spring Street.
Well, what about it?
Well, it's the only clear area for a dozen blocks around.
There's not a colored pin on it, you see?
Yeah.
Now all the rest of the pens, the robberies, burglaries, attacks, they all seem to branch
out from this same spot right here in definite patterns, Franco Alley and Spring Street.
You figure that's the focal point for the gang?
Well, it's got all the mark.
For instance?
Well, we've been checking that neighborhood for a week.
We got it narrowed down to one place, right on the corner of Franco and Spring.
What is it?
It's a soda fountain.
It's pretty typical.
Only it stays open all night and it gets a pretty good play from kids.
A regular hangout, Captain.
Pretty tough youngsters.
None of them over 18.
Who runs the place?
A guy named Eddie Ramsey, small-time con man.
Had a run-in with him when we worked bunco detail.
I remember the name.
Smart mouth.
Tried to give us trouble, didn't we?
Talked to some kids in there last night.
He's got a place set up for him in the back of the store, kind of a club room.
Sounds like a good lead.
What are you doing about it?
Well...
Just a minute.
Cotton bowling.
Yeah?
Who?
Yeah, we'll be right down.
A Monroe kid.
His father's downstairs, cursing every one of us.
What's his problem?
Can't understand how his boy got into trouble.
Come on, Ben, let's tell him.
What kind of a city do we have when we can't allow our children out on the street without
being stabbed or shot?
What's our great police force doing when this is going on?
I'd like an answer if you've got one.
I demand an answer.
We've got an answer for you, Mr. Monroe.
Will you sit down?
My boys lying in there in that hospital bed, cut to pieces.
What did you do to prevent it?
Tell me.
You tell us, Mr. Monroe.
What did you do to prevent it?
I'm no cop.
That's your job.
I pay my taxes and I help pay your salary.
We look out for your kids, but we don't raise them.
That's your job.
What are you talking about?
Just a minute, Mr. Monroe.
Answer me this.
How old is your son, Jack?
He's 16, I think.
Why?
You know what he does with his spare time?
Where he spends his nights?
Of course I do.
He's at home.
Some nights he goes to the library.
Then you don't know much about your son, Mr. Monroe.
For the past month, four nights out of five, he's been hanging around with a gang down
on the soda fountain on Spring Street.
He's down there as late as 2 a.m.
He says he goes to the library.
How do I know?
I'm a busy man.
Did you know that your son is mixed up with that gang?
He's not mixed up with a gang.
But they're growing.
They started with purse snatching, breaking in parked cars, burglarizing candy stores.
You don't know what you're talking about.
Wait a minute, please.
And then they took up robbery, stealing cars, beating up girls, women, attacking them.
You're crazy.
Jack's not that kind.
He's part of that gang, and right now we hold all of them responsible.
My boy wouldn't do anything like that.
He's a member of that gang he told us.
They're the ones that knifed him tonight.
That's a lie.
Jack's not mixed up with anything like that.
You believe anything you want, Mr. Monroe.
We're going to protect your boy as much as we can, but don't expect us to raise him for
you.
You better take a free piece of advice.
You keep your advice.
Jack's not in this.
You can't prove he is.
We're not out to prove anything right now.
But you catch up with that boy of yours.
Keep him off the streets before it's too late.
Are you threatening me?
No, sir, advising you.
Next time we might meet at the morgue.
One a.m. Monday, March 28th.
A detail of 50 officers from juvenile bureau and metropolitan division were deployed for
16 blocks along Figueroa Street.
At five minutes past one, they started to move south over an appointed area.
In the space of half an hour, 18 young kids, none of them over 17 years old, were picked
up off the streets and brought to the second floor at 1335 Georgia Street, the juvenile
bureau.
Four of the youngsters were girls.
At 1.45 a.m., Ben and I checked the soda fountain on the corner of Franco Alley and
Spring Street.
Same bunch, Joe.
Business as usual.
Yeah, come on.
Hey, Teddy, the bulls.
They're back again.
Same guys.
We're back in Cal Eddie.
Hey, look, why do you guys have to keep tracking us, huh?
You think we were crooks or something.
You were here the last time we checked in, Teddy.
You ever go home?
Sure, when I'm tired.
I ain't tired.
What's the matter?
What's your money on the table there?
Sure, it's my money.
You want to borrow a buck?
$28.
That's a lot of money for a boy your age.
You keep pretty late hours, son.
You have to go to school in the morning.
Maybe.
I can sit here, can't I?
It's free country.
I'm drinking coffee.
You gonna make me on that?
You've been drinking more than coffee.
Where's your driver's license?
Oh, every time the same thing.
There.
March 10th, 1933, 16 years old.
They giving you trouble, Ted?
Eddie's on his way out.
What's your name?
Jones.
Clyde Jones.
Huh, Ted?
Sure.
He's got money too.
Rich family.
You can save the smart talk, boys.
Any of your pals in the back room?
What's the trouble now, Sergeant?
How many times a week do we get a check up?
Go ahead, Eddie.
Read them off.
We told you the last time, Ramsey.
Clean up your place here or we'll ride your back till you do.
I told you the last time, Sergeant.
There's nothing wrong with my place.
It's almost 2 o'clock in the morning.
You got a dozen underage kids hanging around here doing nothing.
Some of them have been drinking.
School boys.
Better to have them in here than hanging around outside in the street.
I keep an eye on them.
You're not the guardian, Ramsey.
This time of night they've got no business in here or on the street alone.
That's your opinion, huh?
That's the law, Ramsey.
Now either you shut down that back room and keep these kids out of here late at night
or we'll go after your license.
You don't scare me, Sergeant.
You can't prove a thing.
A couple of these kids have juvenile records.
They're on probation.
We can tag you for contributing.
You still don't scare me.
Now why don't you leave the kids alone?
That's right, Eddie.
Read them off.
Ben, get Benson and Bell.
Roger.
If you won't clean up your place, Ramsey, we'll do it for you.
Yeah?
What are you gonna do?
We're pulling these boys in, all of them.
2.25 a.m. Monday, March 28th.
The dragnet operation had netted 30 juveniles.
26 boys, 4 girls.
24 of the children were between the ages of 16 and 17.
They were lodged in the assembly room at the Georgia Street Juvenile Bureau.
The other half dozen were 13 and 15 year olds.
They were taken to the juvenile hall at 1369 Henry Street.
At 2.43 a.m. we met with Captain Bowling.
Oh, checked in.
30 of them.
All right.
In the morning we filed petitions to have every one of these cases brought to the attention
of the juvenile court.
Make a note of it.
Okay, Bob.
For the kids with records, ask for detention from the probation department.
Right.
We'll call their parents in the morning.
Call them now.
They've got some explaining to do.
By 6 a.m. all but three of the children's parents had shown up.
To most of them it was nothing new.
Their kids had been there before.
They'd be there again.
They took the lecture from the juvenile officers calmly.
As long as it didn't mean trouble for them, they wouldn't worry.
When they got their children home, they would reprimand them.
Not for running the streets, but for being picked up by the police.
Ben and I had seen the cycle of the young criminals start before, a hundred times over.
It had a lot of different endings.
Most of them sour.
During the next week that followed, we booked an average of a dozen juvenile delinquents
every night.
The clampdown continued.
So did the crime wave.
Ten burglaries, four armories, eight car thefts, six purse snitchings, three assaults on women.
One week's work.
Picked up a new angle on Ramsey today, Captain.
He might be fencing for the gang.
Who gave you the tip-off?
One of our informants.
Ramsey's brother lives out in the valley.
He's supposed to be pushing the stuff.
You check him out?
Yeah, couldn't get a thing on him.
Well, it might explain what attracts the kids to that soda farm.
It explains those $20 bills the kids are flashing.
They steal and rob, and then they sell the loot to Ramsey for nothing.
Ramsey keeps his place open all night, and there's no reason to.
He doesn't get that much trade.
It's only from a young gang that hangs around there.
You question the kids.
How do they account for having all that money?
Well, most of them say Ramsey lends it to them.
They say they pay him back a little at a time.
I think he's fencing for the kids.
Have you tried to get his license?
No luck, Captain.
We can't prove a thing against him.
Then we'll do it the hard way.
Sweat it out.
That night, we drove out to Ramsey's soda fountain and asked him again to clean up his
place to keep the young kids out after 10 o'clock at night to stop lending him money.
He refused.
There was nothing we could do.
His business was a public place.
He could not be held responsible for any of his patrons.
In the next 10 days that followed, Ben and I haunted the sidewalk outside the soda fountain.
We questioned every youngster as they entered and left.
We made more than a dozen arrests.
Many of the kids had been drinking heavily.
We found some of them under the influence of narcotics.
But Ramsey was still in the clear.
The crime wave continued sporadically.
Ben and I waited for our chance.
It was a long time coming.
Thursday, April 14th, we had dinner at Johnny Cokin's place and it was 10.35 p.m. when we
checked back in at the office.
Hot shot.
Grab it, Joe.
Yeah.
A terminal on Market Street, a 459 and shooting.
A terminal on Market Street, a 459.
Let's go.
He was approximately five feet four inches tall, 125 pounds, and he was a very, very
tall man.
He had a shirt on.
He had a white shirt, a red jacket, brown eyes, brown hair, brown eyes, slight build,
fair complexion.
He was wearing blue jeans and a corduroy jacket.
We found him between a row of packing cases at the rear of the warehouse at Terminal and
Market Street.
There was a single bullet hole in his forehead just above the left eye.
There was a 38 revolver near his right hand.
The watchman told us how it happened.
She broke in the back of the warehouse, Sergeant.
She wanted to shoot it out with me.
Here's his ID, Corn.
Fell out of his pocket.
Teddy Cameron, age 15.
Dear God, a kid.
I didn't know such a...
He didn't either. He thought he was grown up.
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Los Angeles Police Department. Form 311. Dead body report.
Type, gunshot.
DR number 437695.
Victim, Theodore Cameron.
Residence address, 960 Charter Street.
Date and time of death, Thursday, April 14th, 1035 p.m.
Place, Turnal and Market Streets, South State Warehouse.
Cause of death, gunshot.
Motive or reason, attempted burglary.
Time discovered, 1040 p.m.
Move to County Morgue.
Discovered by Carl Hyba Night Watchman.
Identified by Barbara Cameron, sister.
Description of victim, male, Caucasian, age 15.
Height, weight, occupation, student, descent, English.
Witness, sign Joe Friday, serial number 2288.
Age 15.
Ready, Joe?
Hmm?
I mean, Cameron, boy, sister. She's waiting in the next room.
Oh, yeah. Yeah, let's go.
She taking it hard? Yeah.
Morning, Miss Cameron.
Good morning.
We're gonna keep you long, just a few routine questions.
Yes, all right.
Miss Cameron, how many are there in your family?
There were three of us. Teddy, Mike, and me. Mother and father are dead.
I work. Teddy and Mike go to school. I mean, Mike does.
How old is your brother Mike, Miss Cameron?
He's 14.
You're the sole support of your two brothers?
Yes.
Do you have any idea who the boys were your brother Ted used to run around with?
I don't know them by name. I remember seeing a couple of them once or twice.
Mike would know, I think. He and Ted were pretty close brothers.
Do you know if Ted mixed with a gang of kids down on Spring Street?
Maybe Mike would know that. Sergeant Teddy wasn't a bad boy.
He wasn't a bum. None of us are.
I tried to raise the boys like Ma told me. It wasn't easy.
We made out.
Yes, I understand, Miss Cameron.
Our salary didn't have too much, but we got by.
Yeah.
I figured on getting married. I'm 31. It'd be good for the boys, especially Teddy.
He's dead, isn't he?
Yeah. I couldn't be in two places at once.
Hold a job and watch the kids. But that's why I thought maybe a husband...
I'm sorry to press, Miss Cameron. Do you think your brother Mike can tell us about that Spring Street gang?
No, Mike can't.
Where can we find him?
Staying at a friend's house. I've got the address in my bag.
Here. That's 2514. I don't write numbers too well.
Thank you, Miss Cameron. You've been very helpful.
I'll get somebody to drive you home.
How do I have to go? Would it be all right if I just sit here for a while?
That's all right.
I'm tired. Real tired.
2514 West Serrano Street. That was the address Barbara Cameron had given us.
It was the home of Mr. and Mrs. Gene Brewer, high school friends of the dead boy's sister.
We talked to Mike Cameron. He told us that his brother Teddy had been running around with a gang down on Spring Street.
He identified Ramsey Soda Fountain as the hangout.
It was 2.25 p.m. when we got back to Georgia Street Juvenile Bureau.
Hi, Guy.
Juvenile Bureau, Romero.
Yeah, hold on. I'll call it.
Here, Joe.
Thanks. Friday.
Joe, this is Canfield and Burglary.
Yeah, Homer.
You work in that Cameron case, aren't you?
Yeah.
I just got a report on one you might be interested in out of the same neighborhood. Distillery Prowl.
What do you got on it?
Looks like a juvenile M.O. They got away with seven cases of scotch whiskey. Expensive stuff.
Okay, we'll hop on it.
Bubeck Warehouse, Crocker at 7th.
Miss Elizabeth Rice was the auditor in charge at the Bubeck Warehouse.
We located her on the mezzanine office row.
It was her job to keep a running inventory on all incoming and outgoing liquor stock.
She knew her job well.
As you know, Sergeant Friday, each and every bottle of distilled spirits carries a United States Internal Revenue stamp.
Yes, ma'am.
Each stamp carries a serial number together with the name of the firm to whom the stamps are issued.
Well, Miss Rice, in the stuff that's missing, the stamp on each bottle carries the case number, is that right?
That's right. Now, what did I tell you?
Oh, yes, I have it right here. Seven cases of high-grade blended scotch whiskey.
Now, I have a bottle identical to those in the missing cases.
Yes, I see.
Now, if you'll just look here.
Yes, ma'am.
The number on this stamp here, 368-227-9956, followed by the firm name.
Could you give us the numbers of the stolen cases?
I have them typed out for you right here.
Seven cases, 12 bottles to the case, Canada Dry, Incorporated, four of the red label and three of the black label, Johnny Walker.
All right, thank you very much, Miss Rice.
And you think that this might be a juvenile case, Sergeant?
Yes, ma'am, we do.
Seven cases, that's close to $600, isn't it?
We've lost a great deal more than that, Sergeant. The insurance company makes up for the liquor loss.
Yes, ma'am.
Those youngsters, who makes up for them?
Ben and I left the Buick warehouse with a list of serial numbers of the seven cases of stolen liquor.
We headed back to the juvenile bureau.
We figured that there was a strong possibility that the Spring Street gang was responsible for the warehouse liquor theft.
How were they disposing of the stolen property?
That was the key question we had to answer.
Ben and I had a hunch and a tip from an informant that the young gang was operating under the guidance of a fence,
a man or woman whose job it is to dispose of stolen property.
The gang members were close to Ramsey at the soda fountain. Ramsey was the logical suspect.
All right, well, suppose they did steal the liquor.
Suppose Ramsey's a fence. What's he done with the stuff?
I don't think he's turned it this fast, if he's turned it at all.
He wouldn't keep it at the soda fountain, no liquor license. And we've been around too much.
He wouldn't keep it in his house. He lives in the rear of the fountain that's too hot.
Only leaves one other location that we know about.
His brother's place in the valley.
It was five minutes to ten when we turned left off Ventura Boulevard onto Sepulveda.
Ramsey's brother had a small farm about a mile and a half off the highway.
It was a modest white frame house planted squarely in the center of an acre of ground.
An unpaved driveway led off to the left of the house to the garage.
Pull up here, huh?
Yeah, okay.
It looks kind of quiet, no lights.
Let's go.
Mud sticks to everything.
Where's the doorbell? Oh, here it is.
You got your flashlight? Yeah, what?
Here's a note somebody left.
Oh, it's on the bum again. Here, let's try to match. Okay.
Can you hold it a little closer? Can you read it? Yeah.
Harry, wife and I have gone to the drive-in theater.
Before you put the truck away, get three... Can you hold that match closer? Oh, no, wait a minute.
Yeah, get three cases out of the garage and take them into town.
Ed is waiting. Please try to make it by 11.30 tonight.
Let's see, it's signed George. The address is here.
And there's a garage. Yeah, come on.
Three cases. Could be eggs, Joe. If it is, we wasted a trip.
Oh, I'm out of matches, Joe. All right, here, use mine.
What was that? Checking. Come on.
See anything? No.
There goes the light. Just a minute, I'll strike another one.
You can save your matches. We found it.
We found five cases of eggs.
We found five cases of Scotch whiskey on the floor of the garage.
We checked the serial numbers against the warehouse list. They matched.
We went back to the car and called communications.
We had an immediate stakeout placed on George Ramsey's place, and then we headed back for the city.
It was 11.20 p.m. when we got to the address we found on the note.
It's about time, Harry. Hello, Ramsey. We can do without the music.
What's your problem this time?
You're almost out of Scotch, Ramsey. Serial numbers check out, Joe.
Sorry I can't offer you a drink. We're too old to drink here, aren't we, Ramsey?
Where's your phone? You want to invite somebody?
You can see we're out of booze. You got a phone?
In the hall. Ben, call the office. Yeah.
All right, what's it all about? We've been out to your brother's place.
What happened to the other two cases? You drink them here?
I gave it to the kids.
What are you looking at me like that for, Sergeant?
Anything wrong, Eddie? Party's over, kid.
The story you have just heard was true.
Only the names were changed to protect the innocent.
On June 5, 1949, trial was held in Superior Court, Department 74, City and County of Los Angeles, State of California.
In a moment, the results of that trial.
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Edward and George Ramsey were tried and convicted in Superior Court of receiving stolen property.
After serving their terms as prescribed by law in the state penitentiary,
they will be returned to the county jail where they will serve a one-year term for contributing to the delinquency of minors.
You have just heard Dragnet, a new series of authentic cases from official files.
Technical advice for Dragnet comes from the Office of Acting Chief of Police, W.A. Wharton, Los Angeles Police Department.
Honoring the city of Greenwich, State of Connecticut, and the men who make up the Greenwich Police Department.
Another of America's great law enforcement agencies.
One of these men, Chief John M. Gleason, FBI National Police Academy graduate, who dedicates his life to making yours more secure.
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Listen to Dragnet next week and be sure to hear Morton Downey tonight on NBC.