Original subtitles

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

A number of persons have written asking me

to explain the game of baseball.

Normally, I wouldn’t do this, but some of those who wrote

were professional ballplayers.

And I sense a tone of urgency in their appeals.

Baseball gets its name from the type of field

on which it’s played,

a baseball field.

There are 27 players on each team.

However, no more than 13

are allowed on the field at one time.

Nine from one team,

and from one to four from the other.

To make it a fair match,

the team with the smaller number of players

is allowed to carry clubs.

The larger team has no weapons at all,

except this pellet.

But it is hard enough to knock a man unconscious.

Naturally, both teams occasionally use their fists,

but this is usually unnecessary.

You see all players having ingeniously attached

sharply-pointed metal cleats to their shoes.

With these, the more experienced players

can, with grace and skill, badly lacerate an opponent,

yet, make it look quite accidental.

As you can see the game is an excellent means

for building character

and teaching young men good sportsmanship,

fair play and first aid.

So much for the finer points of the sport.

I see our friend the umpire is signaling for timeout.

The game will commence in just one minute.

[doorbell ringing]

Yes?

Is this the home of Miss Lowen?

Yes.

I’m Lieutenant Berger, ma’am, of the Eighth Precinct.

Here’s my identification.

-Police? -That’s right?

-May I come in? -Wha...?

This won’t take too long, Miss Lowen.

Is it "Miss"?

Yes, it is.

Do people call you Margie?

No, never.

I’m sorry, the only name we had to work with was Margie.

Oh, then you want my niece.

She’s my brother’s child, named after me.

What do you want with Margie?

[Berger] Does your niece live here with you?

Yes, but she isn’t here now.

She left this morning to spend the weekend

with college friends.

Why do you want to see Margie?

Tell me something about your niece, Miss Lowen.

Has she lived with you long?

About nine years.

Her father was killed in the Second World War,

and her mother died several years after that.

That’s when she came to live with me.

She’s almost like my own child, really.

How old is she?

[Miss Lowen] She’ll be 21 next March.

Is she a popular girl? Does she have many friends?

Isn’t that a pretty silly question?

Why should the police care whether Margie’s popular or not?

Believe me, Miss Lowen, I have a reason.

She’s popular enough.

I just told you she’s spending the weekend with friends.

So you did.

Now...

...is this her photograph?

[Miss Lowen] Yes, this is a picture of Margie.

Where’d you get it?

Well, I’m gonna have to tell you something

that may shock you, Miss Lowen.

And it wouldn’t be any of our business

if it wasn’t for what happened.

But under the circumstances, I’m going to have

to tell you something about your niece

you may not know about.

Some two years ago, she started a correspondence

with a man named Rod Collins.

So?

[Berger] I’m not saying there was any harm in it.

Maybe you knew all about it.

No, I didn’t know anything about it.

But I still don’t why the poli...

You see, this Collins got your niece’s name

through one of these pen pal clubs.

You know the kind. They run ads in romance magazines,

places like that.

Lonely heart stuff.

Collins has been sending his letters to a box number,

and your niece has been picking them up at the post office.

That’s why you never saw them.

We managed to trace this address

through one of the pen pal clubs.

And how did you get the picture?

Well, that was in the correspondence

we found it in Collins’ cell.

His cell?

Rod Collins is a prisoner at the state penitentiary, ma’am, a lifer.

What?

He got mixed up with some bad characters when he was just a kid,

killed a man in a fur robbery.

They would’ve given him the chair, but seeing he was so young,

they commuted the sentence to life imprisonment

with no chance of parole.

He’s only about twenty-six or seven now.

I just can’t believe it.

Margie wouldn’t be interested in a man like that.

Please don’t be too rough on her, ma’am.

You know how it is. Something romantic about the whole situation.

Now, we found this other stuff in Collins’ cell.

Maybe you would like to look at some of the letters.

Well, yes, I would.

I’m sorry about this, Miss Lowen.

But I can tell you this much. There was really no harm in it.

I mean, they censor all the mail at the penitentiary.

But maybe if you read one...

"Dearest Rod,

you say you would give anything to be with me.

Believe me, I long for that as much as you do.

If only there were some way to make these wild dreams come true.

Sometimes I think I would give everything else up, if only...

you and I could live out our lives together.

Through our letters,

we can dream and live our love, even though...

language has not the power to speak what love indites,

the soul lies buried in the ink that writes."

You see, on the up-and-up.

Lieutenant.

You said yourself there’s noting wrong about all this.

Then why did you come here?

Because things have changed.

Yesterday Rod Collins took part in a jailbreak.

-Oh. -Now, two of the three men who escaped

have been recaptured.

Collins is still loose.

He’s escaped...

Oh, dear heavens.

Well, why should Margie be involved?

What has she to do with this?

Simply this, Miss Lowen--

Collins would want a place to hide.

He’ll need money. He’ll need help.

He has no family, no friends we know of.

It seems logical that he will straight here for Margie.

What can we do?

Please, don’t be alarmed.

He’ll expect an ally, not an enemy.

He’ll probably be armed,

but if you’re calm, you’ll be all right.

If he gets this far.

Now, chances are we’ll catch up with him

before he does.

But if he does try to contact your niece,

we’ll have officers staked out nearby to pick him up

before there’s any trouble.

Thank heavens Margie isn’t here.

Yes, that’s a break for us.

You might as well give me her address, just in case.

Well...

I really don’t know it myself.

All I know is that it’s some place in Larchmont,

the home of a girl named Gloria Baker.

Well, if you don’t know it, I’m sure Collins won’t.

What can I do?

We’re sure we’ll be able to stop Collins

in case he gets within striking distance of your house.

Well, pretty sure, anyway.

If we don’t, I’ll give you a number for you to call.

And one other thing, Miss Lowen.

I wouldn’t call your niece to tell her about this.

She might do something foolish.

No, no, I wouldn’t dream of telling Margie.

Do you expect to hear from her this weekend?

She said she might call me tonight around 9:00

just to tell me she’s all right.

I see.

Well, we’ll keep in touch

in case there are any further developments, Miss Lowen.

Lieutenant!

Yes?

This won’t have to come out, will it?

I mean, about Margie’s letters to this man?

Not if we can help it, Miss Lowen.

-Thank you, lieutenant. -Good day.

[tapping]

[scraping]

[screams]

Hold it right there, lady.

I’m not gonna hurt you.

You just relax.

You’ll be all right.

Now, don’t scream.

Don’t do anything.

Just sit down.

-What is it you want? -I said sit down.

You’re Margie’s aunt, right?

Yes.

She mentioned you once or twice.

I guess she--

I guess she never told you about me, huh?

-No, she didn’t. -Yeah.

You know what I am, don’t you?

I’m a convict.

All right, where is she?

Margie’s not here. She went away.

Don’t you give me that.

It’s true.

She went away this morning to visit a college friend.

She’ll gone all weekend,

Now, look. Don’t you lie to me, lady.

You’re Margie’s aunt, and I wouldn’t want to hurt you.

Where’d she go? When do you expect her back?

I don’t expect her back,

not till Monday.

It’s no use your waiting here for her.

Where’s this place she’s at?

I don’t know. I don’t remember.

You’re lying to me, lady.

You’ve got to believe me.

She’s visiting a friend of hers named Gloria.

She didn’t tell me where she lived,

just that it was upstate somewhere.

What do you want with Margie?

What’s Margie have to do with you?

More than you know, lady.

You got anything to eat around here?

There’s something in the kitchen.

Show me.

You be very careful.

Sit down here.

Sit down here. You make me nervous!

Look, lady, I don’t want to be rough on you.

I mean, you’re Margie’s aunt.

That stands for a lot with me.

Why should it?

Because I’m in love with Margie, that’s why.

And she’s in love with me.

That isn’t true. That can’t be true.

-You’ve never even seen my niece. -I’ve seen her.

Well, in a photograph--

I didn’t need a photograph, lady.

I know what she’s like from her letters.

Doesn’t make sense.

Maybe it doesn’t make sense to you, lady.

Guess maybe I wouldn’t expect it to make sense to you.

I have been writing your niece for two years.

And she’s been writing back.

I know her better than anybody else in this whole world,

maybe even better than you do.

She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Even if you felt that way,

Margie couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

I know how she felt.

-She’s just a child. -She’s not a child.

You wouldn’t understand anything,

you dried up old crab!

How could you understand anything?

Look, lady, listen. Listen to me.

You’ve got to see how it is.

I really love your niece.

I love her. I wouldn’t hurt her

for anything in this world.

I just want to see her. I just want to--

just want to talk with her.

Now-- Now, you’ve got to help me.

I can’t.

All right.

All right, now, listen to me.

You know how old I was when they shoved me

in the pen up there?

I was 18 years old.

And you know how long I’ve been up there, lady?

I’ve been up there for nine years.

You know how rotten lonely you can get in prison?

With a thousand other guys all around you...

...and you’re lonely.

You know what loneliness can do to you, lady?

I do. I do know.

No, you just think you know.

You don’t know nothing, lady!

I mean, you don’t know nothing at all!

No. Now, listen.

Lady, when Margie and me started writing those letters...

it was like I’d come to life again.

I mean, I was up there dead,

I was buried!

And Margie wrote these letters to me, and she made me alive.

Don’t you see that?

Maybe Margie was trying to be kind to you.

She was always a kind girl.

Even as a child she was always bringing home stray cats

and sick animals.

But that’s something different from love.

You must see that.

I’m no sick animal, lady!

I’m a human being just like you are.

You don’t know Margie, even if you think you do.

When her parents died,

she needed someone to love.

At first, there was me and then as she grew older,

she needed something else.

But this isn’t real love that you’re talking about.

I’m going to make it real. Don’t you see that, lady?

That’s exactly why I broke out. I’ve got to make it real!

And how long would it last?

You can’t go on running forever.

I know.

I know that, lady.

I’m going to take her away with me.

We’ll-- We’ll just leave the country.

And Margie will go with me. I know she will.

Even if she would, how could you live?

Could you make a living? Do you even have a trade?

Yes.

I was in the prison machine shop for nine years.

I’m the best lathe man there. I could walk into any job,

any place in this country right now.

With one eye on your work

and the other watching for the police.

Margie isn’t made for that kind of life.

You can’t ask her to do it.

[sobbing]

If you leave right away, you’ll have a much better chance

of getting away.

And you must forget about Margie.

Maybe if I could just see her.

I just want to see her, just want to look at her

just for one minute.

I’m afraid that’s impossible.

Well, I’ve got to see her!

I went through a lot to see her, lady,

and you ain’t going to stop me.

-I can’t help you. -Yes, you can.

You could call her for me,

and don’t tell me you don’t know where to reach her.

Because I won’t believe that.

All right, I will call her for you.

[dialing rotary numbers]

Hello.

This is Margie Lowen’s aunt.

Could Margie come to the phone?

Yes.

Is Collins there?

Just answer yes if he is.

[Miss Lowen] Yes. Yes, that’s right.

Does he have a gun?

I don’t think so.

All right.

[Berger] Now, keep him talking to you.

Try to hold him there as long as you can.

I’ll have a squad there right away.

[slams down receiver]

So, you were to call Margie for me?

That’s how you would have helped me, by calling the cops?

Please go away.

We can’t help you here! Please, go away!

You think I’ll let you get away with this?

You think you can double-cross me just because you’re Margie’s aunt?

Don’t come any closer! Don’t come any closer!

There. How does that feel?

Feels great.

You got a cigarette?

Think you can make it on your feet?

Yeah, I can make it.

[door closes]

Well, that about does it, Miss Lowen.

And I want to thank you for your help.

Don’t bother to get up. I’ll see myself out.

Oh. I would take the sedative, Miss Lowen.

Try to get some rest.

I’ll do that.

Good night, Miss Lowen.

Good night, lieutenant.

[Miss Lowen] Dearest Rod...

I’ve just learned from my aunt about what happened.

And I can’t tell you how grieved I’m by your dreadful experience.

Will you think me terribly hard-hearted

when I make this confession?

I’m glad you’re back in prison, Rod.

Glad that we still have these letters

to share between us.

These letters that have come to mean so much

to both of us these past two years.

Oh, my darling.

My poor darling.

[sobbing]

And so the curtain falls on our play

"Pen Pal,"

which remains me,

I must write this note to a pal in the bullpen.

It’s time for our seventh-inning stretch,

after which I shall steal home.

I have an announcement to make,

which you will all be overjoyed to hear.

There will be no more commercials,

positively no more commercials,

during the balance of this program.

So, until next week at this time,

goodnight.