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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 transcribed from official police files.
From beginning to end, from crime to punishment, DRAGNET is the story of your police force in action.
It was Thursday, April 10th. It was warm in Los Angeles.
We were working the night watch out of Juvenile Bureau.
My partner is Ben Romero. The boss is Captain Stein. My name is Friday.
It was 10.27 p.m. when I got to 1335 George's Street, second floor, the squad room.
Joe, is that you? Yeah, you ready? Yeah, half a minute.
Let me get my coat on here.
Did you leave a note for McNamara? Yeah, all set.
All right, let's hurry, huh? Yeah.
Same neighborhood we had the trouble Monday night? Uh-huh. Sounds like the same gang, too.
These kids are sure moving, Fred. Go ahead. Yeah.
What is it this time? Movie theater on West Fremont, small neighborhood house.
They had a crowd of 15 to 20 kids in there tonight. Mixed group, boys and girls.
For no reason at all, they started to tear the place up.
Did they do much damage? Well, I don't know. We can see when we get there.
They told me on the phone the theater manager tried to quiet the kids down.
Half a dozen boys piled all over them. One of them pulled a knife.
They tore up a couple of seats up on the balcony, moved out into the lobby,
smashed mirrors and lamps. They beat up one of the ushers.
Lousy little punks. Where'd you park the car? Straight back.
I'd give a right arm to know how this thing got started.
We've never had much trouble from the kids in that neighborhood out there,
not until this last month. Seemed to be going crazy.
Well, it's not getting any better. Burglary, car thefts, wrecking property.
Somebody's going to come out on the short end if it keeps up. It's got to happen.
Maybe it already has. When they were ripping up that theater lobby tonight,
one kid got hurt. What happened?
A 14-year-old boy. In the mix-up, he got shoved through a display case, plate glass.
Cut up pretty bad? His eyes. They're not sure he'll see again.
In police work, the standard law of cause and effect works like it does for everything else.
When a crime's committed, there's a cause behind it. There's a reason for it.
And when a group of normally well-behaved kids in an average residential neighborhood
start running wild, there's got to be a reason for that, too.
A month before, a rash of auto thefts, petty stealing, and public disturbances
had broken out suddenly in the particular neighborhood.
All of the incidents were traced directly to the teenagers in the area.
Why the kids had suddenly decided to run wild, we didn't know,
but the amount and the nature of the violations kept getting more serious.
Juveniles who'd previously been picked up for petty thefts and placed on probation
were now committing burglaries. Auto thefts in the area had jumped 20 percent.
Misconduct and drunk charges against the teenagers, girls and boys alike,
increased by the week. We had a fair idea what the root of all the trouble was,
but so far, we hadn't been able to trace it.
10.45 p.m. We got to the neighborhood movie theater on West Fremont, and we went inside.
The lobby was a shambles. Two large mirrors had been shattered.
Lamps and sofas overturned and broken. The lobby candy counter had been wrecked completely.
The glass showcases were caved in. A popcorn machine was smashed.
The soft drink cooler turned on its side.
The last showing of the feature picture was still going on.
We interviewed the theater manager in the lobby, Mr. Clyde Barton.
They got real foul mouth. One or two of the girls, too.
Some of the language I wouldn't even use at a stag party.
I got so mad, I grabbed two of the noisy ones by the neck and told them to get out.
That's when it broke loose.
What exactly happened?
The whole crowd of them jumped out of their seats and piled on me.
I fell back down against the stairs and I started swinging.
I'll tell you the truth, Sergeant, I was scared.
I didn't know what to make of them. They seemed like a pack of animals, wild.
I happened to hit this one kid and I saw him pull out a knife and come at me.
Didn't take me too long to get out of there. Kids are not.
When a bunch of them like that come after you, you run.
Yes, sir. You called for the police as soon as all this happened?
In bed I did, just as soon as I could get out into the lobby and into my office.
I locked the door. I could hear them turn the place up outside.
Just look at that. Smashed up everything in sight.
I have to have something like this happen.
Look at this candy stand.
How about some of the kids you recognize in that crowd, Miss Barton?
Oh, say, the last show's ready to break. Folks are going to be coming out.
You want to step back here into my office? We can talk there and be out of the way.
That'll be fine, Sergeant.
Here we are. Pull up a chair for yourself, officers.
Yeah, thank you.
I just got the feeling there's something radically wrong going on with those kids.
This is the first time you've ever had any trouble of any real size, is that right?
Yeah. Once in a while the kids fool around in the show talking loud, you know, but nothing like this.
Oh, see, Fred, my usher, and the way they messed him up, brutal.
And that little 14-year-old, they shoved through the glass showcase.
It'll be a real mess if he doesn't pull through.
I was going to ask you, sir, about the kids in that crowd you recognize.
You haven't known any of their names?
Sure thing. I made a list of them while you were on the way over here.
I got a half dozen of them or more. That's another thing I can't understand.
Yeah, what's that, sir?
When these kids start running wild, no matter what they do, they don't seem to care
if they're recognized or not.
You think if they wanted to raise the devil, they'd go over to some other neighborhood,
someplace where people didn't know them. They just don't seem to care.
Yes, sir. We've had the same report from a couple of other business people in the neighborhood here.
Mr. Barton, you probably have a pretty fair opportunity to watch the kids around here from time to time.
I mean, running a theater here.
I sure do. Most of them are in here once a week anyway.
Some of the kids I've known since they were in knee pants.
Well, have you any idea at all what's behind all this trouble? I mean, any real indication?
Maybe I'm just the suspicious kind, but I've got an idea all right.
Here, I'll get that list of names for you at the same time.
There they are. Seven names and all.
Every one of those kids was in that gang tonight.
I can give you a hand tracking down their addresses.
Oh, thank you.
Something else. Here's what I was talking about.
What's this, sir?
In that scramble in the lobby tonight, this little box fell out of one of the kids' pockets.
One of the ushers picked it up, brought it in to me.
Have a look inside.
Ben?
I don't know too much about it, Sergeant, but I got a hunch.
I don't think I made a mistake.
What do you think?
No, sir, no mistake. It's marijuana.
We finished interviewing the theater manager, Clyde Barton, and then we talked to the usher,
a Donald Masters, who recovered the small box containing the marijuana from the floor of the lobby.
He told us he recognized the young fellow who dropped the box, but he wasn't sure.
He said the boy's name was Harold Everson, one of the names which appeared on the list
which the theater manager, Mr. Barton, had given us.
Half an hour later, Ben and I located the Everson boys' home.
It was a two-story frame, colonial-style house, embedded in an average section of the area.
The boy's father answered the door, a Harold Everson senior.
We told him what we wanted.
A little late to be making routine calls, don't you think?
People have to get their sleep. Why can't you let it wait until morning?
It's not a routine call, Mr. Everson. I'd like to see your son if he's home.
Harry, what do you have to see him about?
Do you have any idea where your boy spent his time tonight, sir?
He said he was going down to the gym to play a little basketball, and he was going to the library.
It's a school night. He had studying to do.
I think maybe you ought to keep a little closer check on your son, sir.
That's not the way we get it.
What are you getting at? I trust my boy.
He said he was going to the gym and then to the library.
He's got no reason to lie about it.
They had a minor riot at the neighborhood movie down in West Fremont tonight.
Gang of high school kids ran wild and wrecked the place.
What's that got to do with Harry?
A couple of people recognized him among the gang of kids.
They said he did his share of wrecking along with the rest of them.
Couldn't be. It's a lie.
Harry didn't go to the show tonight. He told me when he got home.
He even had his books with him. He spent the night at the library.
I'll tell you, take a look at this, Mr. Everson.
This box here. Would you recognize this at all?
Yeah. Same kind of box my stomach pills come in.
Got a little acid condition in my stomach.
I take these pills for it.
What's all this have to do with Harry?
I'm going to open the box for you, Mr. Everson.
I don't get it. What is this stuff?
Someone saw your son drop the box in the lobby of the theater tonight.
The box contains marijuana.
It's stupid. It couldn't be right.
I haven't got that kind of a boy. I know it isn't right.
Do you mind if we talk to your son? Maybe he can explain it for us.
Just a minute. I'll get him down here.
Have a chair if you like.
Thank you.
Sure a nice place, huh, Joe?
Yeah. Beautiful furniture.
There's nothing like period furniture. Never goes out of date.
Be just as much in style ten years from now as it is today.
We better be sure and tag by Georgia Street Hospital on the way back.
See how that kid's doing. You know, the one that was hurt at the show.
Oh, yeah. This is my boy Harry, officers.
Hello, Harry. How are you, son?
Harry just told me, officers, he doesn't know what this is all about.
He was at the library, like I said.
Sure, I was there till they closed.
Somebody made a mistake. I wasn't at the show tonight.
Harry, do you know Mr. Barton, the man who runs the theater?
Yeah, I know him. Why?
He swears you were there tonight. So does one of the ushers.
Who?
Boy by the name of Donald Masters. He says he knows you pretty well.
I don't know any Donald Masters.
You can go to the same high school to get a son. You're in the same class.
I told you, I don't know any Donald Masters.
What about this, Harry? This box here. Do you recognize this?
No.
What's the matter, son?
What is it, Harry? What's wrong with you?
Nothing. I don't know whose it is. It's not mine.
He was lost in the lobby of the theater tonight.
Masters says he saw you dropping.
He's lying. I hate the kid's guts anyway. He's lying.
But you said you didn't know him, son.
What's wrong with you? What are you shaking for?
What kind of a story are you trying to tell?
I didn't mean it, Dad.
The kid got the stuff for me. I didn't mean to give it.
I didn't mean to, Dad.
It's beginning to look like I'm the dummy of the family.
Take it easy, Mr. Everson. Harry, you're a liar.
The kid got the stuff for me. That is the truth. I didn't buy it.
You want him downtown, Officer?
Afraid so, Mr. Everson. I'd like to have you come down with him.
Get your clothes on. Go back to your room and get your clothes on.
Okay, Dad.
Hard to believe. My son using marijuana.
I can't tell you how I feel.
I'm afraid there's gonna be more folks feeling the same way
before they sustain death.
It'd be different if Harry didn't have a chance, but...
good home, good training. The boys had the best I could give him.
Yes, sir.
Why, if and I, we never thought we had a worry in the world
as far as Harry was concerned.
Yes, sir. Maybe that's why it happened.
Before we left the Everson house, we checked the boys' room
and came up with another small box full of marijuana
which he'd hidden back in his closet.
Besides Everson and his son Harry,
more than a half a dozen other teenagers who'd had a part in the theater braw
were rounded up and taken downtown along with their fathers for interrogation.
By the time we finished our questioning and the teenagers had finished talking,
we had most of the story pieced together.
A story that had the parents so amazed
that half of them thought the youngsters were making it up.
The pattern was familiar enough for us to know that they were telling the truth.
Almost two months before, Word had gone around among the teenagers in the neighborhood
that marijuana, along with various stimulating drugs,
was to be had easily and in quantity for anybody who wanted them.
Word was passed around that it was the new thing to do,
the smart thing to do if you wanted to keep up with the crowd.
In questioning the Everson boy, we found that he seemed to know more about the history
and operations of the narcotics campaign in the neighborhood
than the other boys did.
I know one of the guys who first showed up with the stuff, named Johnny Demring.
He's about my age, 17. I used to know him pretty well.
How do you mean he was the first to show up with his stuff, Harry? What kind of stuff?
Marijuana. Some of the other things, you know, yellow jackets, goofballs.
More of the kids go for them than they do for marijuana.
Do the youngsters know what these goofballs are made of, son?
It's dope, I guess. Narcotics.
The kids get a big kick out of them. I guess that's all they care.
Mr. Johnny Demring, does he sell the stuff around the neighborhood, Harry?
Yeah, he was the first one. He's got a couple of other kids selling for him now.
A couple of them are girls. They sell a lot for him.
Johnny makes pretty good money. Yeah, I guess he does.
Where does he get the stuff from, do you know?
No, I wouldn't know that. Someplace downtown.
Johnny knows a guy. He's never told anybody where he goes to meet the guy.
Nobody ever goes with him.
Was Johnny at the show with you tonight?
No, he doesn't hang around with the kids much anymore.
He's getting a little big-timer, I think. He's got his own car and a good-looking girlfriend downtown.
Says he's going to quit school next month.
Where does Johnny live, son? Can you tell us?
I don't know the address right off. I can check it in the phone book for you.
How about the kids Johnny gets to sell the stuff? Can you give us their names?
Yeah, okay. I think I can remember who they are.
You gonna bring Johnny in and talk to him?
That's the idea, yeah.
I don't know if you're gonna find him right away.
He probably heard about the trouble tonight. Johnny's a pretty smart guy.
I don't think you'll find him very easy.
I think we'll find him.
Nobody knows much about him. He never talks about what he's doing.
He never tells anybody anything. Pretty smart guy.
I told you how smart was that.
Complete statements were taken from each of the youngsters we brought in for questioning,
and then in practically all cases they were released into the custody of their parents pending action by the juvenile court.
With the information we had at hand, it took us the better part of four days to round up everybody involved in the narcotics distribution system,
which had been set up among the teenagers in the neighborhood by 17-year-old Johnny Demring.
As for the Demring boy himself, he couldn't be found.
We checked with his family, his relatives, his friends, all his known associates. We got out a want for him.
Then we checked the car that he owned through DMV. We got out a want for that. No sign of the boy.
Narcotics detail gave us a hand and got their informants busy trying to track down the source of the dope
for which the Demring boy had been the only neighborhood distributor.
We knew it went far beyond him. It reached to the same vicious men who make their money off the hopeless adult drug addict,
the same vicious men who today are trying to build a new market for their wares among the young people of this country.
Tuesday, April 29th, 2.30 p.m.
Again? Right.
Junior Bureau, Romero. Oh yeah, Brady.
Yeah, huh? That's right. What's his name?
Yeah, yeah, okay, right away. Right, go ahead.
Brady from Narcotics, they figured they got our man.
The Demring boy? No, the guy who pushed his stuff to Demring.
His name's Jock O. Harris. They found him in the county hospital this morning.
Somebody got a hold of him two nights ago and gave him a good working over.
If we're lucky, we'll make it. What do you mean? He's not supposed to last out the day.
2.35 p.m. Ben and I left the office and went immediately to the county hospital
where we were allowed to briefly interview the narcotics suspect, Jock O. Harris.
He was in a critical condition with a fracture of the skull.
He gave us a statement in the form of a dying declaration.
He admitted being the contact man for 17-year-old Johnny Demring,
and he admitted also that he had kept the boy supplied with enough narcotics
to keep the neighborhood teenage demand for the stuff fully satisfied.
Seemed like a good kid. Never thought he'd turn.
What do you mean, Jock O.? How'd he turn?
Why do you think I'm here?
You mean he's the one who worked over?
Yeah. Where is he, Jock O.? Do you know?
No. Do you know where he's staying? Do you have any idea at all?
No. He stole all my stuff. Every ounce.
What was it, heroin? Yeah.
Listen. Yeah?
Get him. Fast.
He's got enough junk to start a war.
You're in a cruiser car of a Metropolitan Police Department.
You receive a routine radio call.
All units. Attention, all units.
Pick up and hold for investigation the following vehicle.
1948 Ford, two-door sedan, black, white sidewall tires.
There are many cars that fit this description.
You listen for more facts.
This car will have extensive damage to right front end.
License number, 9-ROBERT-9-707.
In the 7 column, 9-ROBERT-9-707. KMA 360.
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Wednesday, April 30th, 9 a.m.
The hunt for 17-year-old Johnny Demring was intensified.
To our knowledge, because of the information we gained from narcotics peddler Jocko Harris,
the teenage youngster had a large store of high-grade heroin,
which we knew because of his inexperience he was unaccustomed to dealing with.
In his hands, the narcotics immediately became a lethal weapon.
We knew that Johnny Demring had only one market to deal in,
only one type of customer he was acquainted with, the teenager.
In previous transactions, we knew that the youngsters received only a low-grade type of narcotic, highly diluted.
We knew that if Demring succeeded in dispensing the highly concentrated store that he had on hand,
and the juvenile customers he served tried it on themselves,
it would very likely result in death.
3 p.m. Wednesday, despite all our efforts, Johnny Demring
and the store of high-grade narcotics which he'd hijacked from Jocko Harris were still missing.
Wednesday, 12 noon, we began rechecking every one of the possible sources that might lead us to the suspect.
One of them was the boy's mother, Mrs. Frances Demring.
We talked to her at work.
She was employed as a mulligraph operator in the mailing department of a large downtown department store.
Not since the last time you talked to me, Sergeant, I haven't heard a word from my boy, nothing at all.
Have you heard anything?
Well, yes, ma'am, in a way. We've got an idea he's still somewhere in the city.
That's why we figured we'd come back and talk to you again.
Have you been in touch with your relatives in town recently, Mrs. Demring?
I mean, those that Johnny might possibly contact?
Yes, there's just my sister and my mother.
Yes, ma'am.
I guess it just wasn't to be right from the start.
Johnny's father ran away, you know.
Tried my best after that. Never seemed to be enough.
Well, there's no getting away from it. A boy needs a father.
Try all you want. They still need a father, some kind of discipline.
How about the relatives you have out of town, Mrs. Demring? Any word from them at all about Johnny?
No, Sergeant, nothing. Would you excuse me, please?
This run here's finished. I have to get it off the machine.
Sure, make the right hand.
Yes, terrible thing. Johnny getting mixed up in all this.
Seems no matter how you try, it's never enough. Never enough.
Do you have any idea at all where Johnny would most likely go in town if he didn't want to be seen, Mrs. Demring?
Where he'd go? No, I wouldn't know that, Sergeant.
First place, Johnny's never really been in trouble before.
Well, how about Johnny's school friends, ma'am? Would there be any one of them he might possibly contact in a jam?
None that I haven't told you about before, I don't think. Evelyn.
She's the only one I suppose Johnny'd go to if he needed help, if he was in trouble.
That's his girlfriend at the high school, isn't it, Evelyn Maxman?
Yes, that's right. Sweet girl.
How about a girlfriend Johnny was supposed to have downtown somewhere, Mrs. Demring? Would you know anything about her?
Nothing really, no. Name was Betty, I think.
You have no idea where she lived downtown?
No, I don't, Sergeant.
Well, all right, ma'am. Thank you very much. Appreciate it if you'd notify us if you hear anything about your son at all.
All right, Sergeant, thank you.
Tomorrow's Johnny's birthday, you know, I meant to tell you.
Always expect Johnny home on his birthday.
Seems no matter where he is, how he's tied up with his school or sports or something, Johnny always makes it home for his birthday.
I see.
I wonder how it'll be tomorrow. He's never missed once, not once.
Well, if he shows up, I guess you can count on one thing, ma'am.
What's that?
He's going to have to miss next year.
Two p.m. Ben and I picked up a glass of milk and a hot dog for lunch, and then we continued making a check of Johnny Demring's closest friends.
Next in line after his mother was Demring's high school girlfriend, Evelyn Maxford.
We located her at her home, a tall, attractive brunette, nicely dressed and well-mannered.
She seemed unusually nervous as we interviewed her.
I haven't heard a word, Sergeant. I know tomorrow's his birthday. The mother's expecting him home. I know he won't come, though. I'm sure of that.
How are you sure, Miss?
Well, I just know that's all.
I'd like to ask you again.
Yes?
Are you sure you haven't heard from Johnny Demring recently in the past two days or so?
No, that's what I told you. Don't you believe me?
Do you know why we're so anxious to locate Johnny, Miss Maxford?
Well, I think so. It's about the narcotics business.
You say Johnny had a hand in it. He was selling those things to the kids. I still don't believe it myself.
It's a lot more than that the way it stands now, Miss Maxford.
What do you mean?
Well, when he was at school, Johnny was kept supplied with narcotics by a man named Jaco Harris. He's what we call a pusher, kind of an in-between supply man in the narcotics trade.
Well, two nights ago, Johnny caught up with this Harris. He beat him up badly enough to send him to the hospital with a fractured skull.
And then Johnny stole every bit of narcotics that Harris had in his room, some of the strongest stuff you can buy on the market.
That's why we want Johnny, Miss Maxford.
I don't think I understand. What does it mean?
It means that most of the teenage kids Johnny's been supplying stuff to have been getting fairly weak grades in narcotics.
If you get some of this stuff to them and the kids start taking it, it might prove too strong for them.
If they take too much of it, it could kill them outright.
Now, you see what we're up against. We've got to find that boy. We've got to find him soon.
Couldn't you talk to his mother? Maybe she could tell you something.
Well, we already have, Miss. She couldn't tell us anything. That's why we're halfway dependent on you.
Why do they have to put it in my lap? Why does it have to be me? I liked Johnny for a while. I don't know what to think now.
Well, have you heard from him, Miss Maxford? Now, there's no reason to be afraid.
You'd probably feel a lot worse if something happened to one of the high school kids, wouldn't you? Miss Maxford.
I got a call from him yesterday, Johnny. He wouldn't tell me where he was. I asked him, but he wouldn't tell me.
What else did he say?
He knows everybody's looking for him. He doesn't know about the stuff that he stole, though I'm sure of that. He doesn't know what it could do.
Did he make any dates with you? Did he want to see you?
Yes, he wants to see me. He wants me to meet him tonight.
Where?
Excuse me.
Yes, go ahead.
Hello? Yes? I don't know. I don't really. What? Seven o'clock, all right. Yes, yes, I'll meet you then. All right, goodbye.
That was Johnny just then. He wanted to make sure I was going to meet him tonight.
When?
Seven o'clock tonight, right near Westlake Park.
Which side, Miss?
The Westside, Sergeant. I hope to God it's not true.
What's that?
The narcotics he stole from that man. You said they were powerful?
Yes, we did.
Johnny's been taking them for two days.
Six forty-five p.m. Together with two other men from Juvenile Bureau, Hurst and Ty, we drove near the appointed spot along the lake in Westlake Park where Evelyn Maxford's meeting with the teenage suspect, Johnny Deming, was to take place.
We staked out at a reasonable distance and Miss Maxford went ahead to the meeting spot. As far as we could see, there was no sign of Deming.
Somebody on the opposite side of the lake was playing a phonograph. The music came over faintly across the water.
We watched the Maxford girl cross the long stretch of grass down to the lake. She approached the shore. We saw her stop and looked down.
Sure, let's go. Come on.
Yeah.
We ran all the way as fast as we could get there. When we got close enough, we found out the reason for the scream.
He was lying face up on the ground near the edge of a small clump of trees close to the water.
He was a good looking boy, dark hair, good build.
Took only one look and you knew right away he was too young to be dead.
You could argue for a week, but you wouldn't change it. He was dead.
The girl stood over him, her face in her hands, crying.
No marks on the body, Joe. None at all.
It must be it, huh? An overdose.
That's the way it looks to me. We better get her out of here, hadn't we?
Yeah. Miss Maxford? Come on, Miss Maxford.
Yes, Sergeant. It's all right. It's all right now.
We'll have one of the other men drive you home. We can take care of whatever has to be done here.
He was a good boy, Sergeant. He was smart. How did he ever get started in such a thing?
How did he ever make such a mistake?
Well, he's got the best excuse in the world, Miss.
Yes.
He was 17.
The story you have just heard was true.
The names were changed to protect the innocent.
On May 2nd, a coroner's inquest was held at the County Morgue,
Hall of Justice, City and County of Los Angeles, State of California.
In a moment, the results of that inquest.
And now here is our star, Jack Webb.
Thank you. Friends, it makes us very happy to know that so many of you have switched to King size Fatimas.
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That thousands and thousands of smokers, coast to coast, agree with what we've been saying.
Fatima is the best of all King size cigarettes.
If you haven't smoked them yet, remember this.
Fatimas cost no more than the cigarettes you've been smoking.
Fatima gives you all the advantages of extra length plus Fatima quality, which no other King size cigarette has.
So tomorrow, buy Fatima.
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At the inquest, the coroner's jury ruled that 17-year-old John Andrew Demmering had administered himself an overdose of narcotics and thus had taken his own life.
All others involved in the juvenile narcotics ring, a total of eight persons, were tried and convicted under the same law.
They received sentences as prescribed by law and are now serving their terms in the state penitentiary.
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You have just heard Dragnet, a series of authentic cases from official files.
Technical advice comes from the Office of Chief of Police, W.A.A.
Parker, Los Angeles Police Department.
Fatima cigarettes, best of all King size cigarettes, has brought you Dragnet, transcribed from Los Angeles.
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Stay tuned for Counterspy, next on NBC.
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