The Prepper Broadcasting Network - I Was a Communist for the FBI 002- I Walk Alone

Episode Date: February 13, 2026

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For the FBI. Starring Dana Andrews in an exciting tale of danger and espionage, I was a communist for the FBI. The story you are about to hear is based on the actual records and authentic experiences of Matt Sevedic, who for nine fantastic years lived as a communist for the FBI. Here is our star, Dana Andrews, as Matt Sevedic. Nine years of it. Nine years of living behind a mask that made me an outcast among my own people.

And from behind that mask, I saw these things happen. It's all in the record. The story and testimony of my nine years as a communist for the FBI. In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews at Matt Sabetic. Mapsavetic, undercover man. This story from his confidential file is marked, I walk alone. Will you be in the office after midnight? I could be.

I may have something after the meeting tonight. Big? Some guy imported from Moscow or Bucharest is going to address ourselves. He's supposed to have gotten his boot training practically with Uncle Joe himself. I'll call you right after the meeting breaks up. Well, honey, I... I don't know when it'll break up. These Shindigs last.

Huh? Probably too late to do much anyway. Well, uh, how about dinner, Monday night in a... On a show or dancing or something? I... Monday? Monday night, okay? Okay, honey.

It's a date. Bye. In some place, Maddie? I was having a sandwich at the Sertiphon. Saw you going to the phone book. Yeah, just calling a girl. Yeah, I... I came over to ask you to join me for a bite,

and I couldn't help catching the end of it. Go back and finish your sandwich. What's the matter, comrade? You saw? You know I was talking to my girl, and you stood in tuned in. I have a private life, you know, Simon. Private life after all these years on the party?

Come on. I'll walk with you to the meeting, comrade. Go together. I walk shoulder to shoulder with Comrade Simon Horvath thinking. Yeah, we go together, but we walk alone. All these comrades, but never a friend among them. We go to a piano studio on Pine Street. We're the last to arrive.

Besides the five members of our cell, as a big man facing the room. He looks at me in, Comrade Horvath, as though inspecting us for plague. He looked like real trouble to any decent hardworking on the cover man. Comrade Helen Worth makes the introductions, and the big man's name strikes some kind of cord with me.

Comrade Ritchinkel? Comrade Porvath and Savedit. Comrade, Samarovchenko. Oh, weren't you assigned to the Cleveland problem? Was I? Plugging secret information leaks. Plugging them poorly, it would seem. Sit down, though.

I have here three copies of the most important letter. Comrade Sevitic. Yes, Comrade? Secretary of the American Slav Congress. That's right. Take this copy of the letter. Commit its contents to memory when you've done so returned the letter to me. That I understand.

Here. Do not read it while I'm speaking. Sorry. Copy for Comrade Helen Worth. Thank you. Comrade Wilson. Now briefly first. Yes, comrades of Vedic, I was assigned to the Cleveland problem.

I'm sorry if I've been out of the former, comrade. There have been serious information leaks to the FBI. Only in Cleveland? Everywhere. However, my visit is not relative to that matter, at least not exclusively. Those letters contain the names and assignments of several highly trained comrades assigned to vital industries in this area. Memorize the names and everything about them to the last detail. You will be their contacts.

Clear? And does that mean that we'll receive secret instructions to be chandled to these people? Memorize the names and everything about them to the last detail. I know. You said that, comrade. But I said that. And I said you will be their contacts. And that is all I said. Clear, comrade, Savetic.

Learn your men first. When we are prepared to issue orders for them, you'll receive those orders to pass on to them. Well, that's all I asked. That's all I wanted to know. That answers the questions. Why, why, excuse me? Well, I mean, didn't he just have told me? Comrade Savetic

Comrade Savetic, how long have you been with us? I can vouch for, Comrade Vichchenko. He joined us back... Comrade Savittick, will answer. I joined the party in 1942. Did you join with any questions in your mind, then? No. Any reservations?

No. Doubts? No. Lack of belief in your leaders? No. Then why not keep that healthy state of acceptance? That will be all. Be available for sudden meetings.

Go. Mr. Dick Lawrence, please. Can't talk to you over the telephone. Do you want to meet me someplace? No, I've got to be on call. I'm mailing you a letter along with my report. What letter? I can't talk.

It'll knock you on your face, that's all. Use a new mail drop. Yeah, I know. Only look, read the letter, copy it, or a photo statet or whatever you want to do with. Get it back to me quick. About a couple of days. As soon as you can. I've got to give it back in a hurry.

I heard you. A gold mine of commie saboteurs. Nuggets of no good. Wait until you see this. They've got three of the boys in atom bomb installations. Commies and Adam Jobs? Any instructions? Yeah, D-Y.

Rudy. Got it. Your new contact name here is Mr. Fisher. Got it. Keep in touch. I'll try. Those guys suspect their own mothers. I go back to my room at the hotel.

I'm supposed to be living with my folks, but my folks don't want much part of the son who turned commie and disgraced the family. That's the way it is. I type out my report, sign my current code. number, enclosed Revchenko's letter, and address it to the new drop, a little barbershop in a golden triangle where it'll be picked up by an FBI agent. I go out to mail it, then come back to my room and bone up a little on the communist manifesto to look sharp to Revchenko. And then I go to sleep. In the morning, I go out to breakfast. My heart jumps. Comrade Horvap. Has he seen me come

out of the hotel? Good morning. Comrade. Hello, Simon. Oh, you're doing in the state hotel just now. I'm peculiar. I eat. I was in the coffee shop. Don't you eat breakfast at home? No, I don't hang around home very much. You know that. My folks don't like a communist in the family. Time they get used to it.

And it's such mother. When you know how it is. No. How is it? Well, after all, she's my mother. A nice bourgeois sentiment. That's why I don't like the party to call me there. The family takes messages for him, but they sure don't like it. They took one for you this morning. What?

Didn't they tell you? No, I left pretty early. What time? What time did you call? I didn't. You just said that you... Redchenko called. What for?

He's calling back all the letters. He just issued them last night. He figures overnight to study them as enough. Oh, when does he want the letter? He wants it two hours ago. Well, I don't have it. Huh? Not only that is.

I don't carry it around. It's home. I'll go home with you. Well, I better call home first. All right. There's a drugstore. I'll go back and tell Ruffchenko, I'll have a letter for him later today. This afternoon.

Let's see if they found it. Back home. All right. I'll phone them. I'll go with you. How to call the FBI and not let Comrade Horvath at my elbow know who I'm talking to and what I'm trying to say. I get changed from the cashier. He's calling for time.

Trying to think of something. I dial, hoping that the common doesn't notice that the exchange I dial isn't in the Stanley Avenue area. Lawrence is my constant. No, it's Fisher now. Fisher, worse luck. Lawrence could sound like my brother's first name, but Fisher, my hand is shaking. Hello? Fisher?

Who? Oh, yes. I remember you, aren't you? The insurance fan comes around once a month? Yeah, that's right. Remember me? I said I didn't need insurance. I was going to live forever.

Well, now I don't know. What's up? Is the mother there, Mr. Fisher? Go ahead. I had an important letter yesterday. Will you ask Mom if I left it on my desk or someplace around? I need it, urgently. Will you ask her now?

What? Why? Well, what's wrong? When do you think Mom will feel better? What? I see. Well, I don't know if I can see her right away, Mr. Fisher. I'm with a friend, and mom doesn't entirely approve of my political friends.

Save. Well, you'll stay with mom until she feels a little better, won't you? I'd really appreciate it. Goodbye, Mr. Fisher. Trouble? Yeah. Mother isn't feeling so well. Maybe I'd better go see you.

What about Rufchenko? Explain it to him for me, will you? Oh, no. Not me. Oh, he'll understand. Maybe you can make him understand, not me. What's so special about this Ravchenko? Or...

Nicolay. Nikolayef? Or Tom. Wasn't there, Thomashevsky? Wasn't there, Tomashevsky? Yeah. Yeah, what? Oh, used to be with the NKVD, now the MBD, the communist international secret police. Ruffington. Alias this, alias that, yeah. Only we call him Comrade Rufchenko. He's going to want to talk to you, Comrade Savetti.

Back to Dana Andrews, starring in I Was a Communist for the FBI, and the second act of our story. That is all, Comrade Savetic. That is your story. Yes, Comrade Ravchenko. But no letter. But I've explained that I learned my mother was ill. And I can't decide if it's wise to visit her under the circumstances. The only wisdom is to produce the letter.

Well, it may take time. She's ill and she resents me. My family... Is it your mother's house, you say? Yes, but I... Get it. Very well. Comrade Harvath.

Go with him. The first house passed a lamp post driver. 5102. Right here, that's right. Oh, the flag driver will be right out. I look, silent. You know how my family feels about my going with communists. Why don't I go in first and see how Mother feels

and then sort of get her use to the idea of bring another communist into the house, huh? Well, make it short. This taxi is on you, don't forget. Oh. Hello, Mom. Come in, Marty. Who waits outside in the taxi? He's a friend of mine, Mom.

Friend. Mom, I've come to ask a very big favor of you. Oh, you got some trouble, yeah. Pretty big trouble, yeah. What favor? You won't like this, and I hate to ask it. I want you to tell that man in a taxi that you think you burned a letter of mine you found around yesterday.

I should lie for you. I said you wouldn't like it. You left the letter I found yesterday, and I burned it. And remember, it was in a yellow envelope. In yellow envelope. You didn't read any of it, naturally. This much at least is true. He knows you don't like communists,

so it'll look all right if you're unfriendly to him. Oh, that's tip. Who's that in the taxi outside? Hello, Tip. How have you been? Who's the guy in the taxi, Mom? I said, hello, Tip. One of your crummy friends?

He wants to talk to Mom. Mom doesn't want to talk to him. Yes, Tippy. Why? They keep out of this tip. Why should I? Just keep out. Will you keep out of it?

You don't know what's going on, so keep out. I don't know what's going on. No. Oh, boy, I don't know what's going on. I'll call Simon. Stay where you are, Matt. He's your brother. He's in trouble.

If he's in trouble with his chums, he asks for it. If he's in bad with the cops of the FBI, let his chums get him out of it. Now, Matt? Simple, elementary, wise guy? He's a brother. He's not my brother while he's their comrade. Look, Tip, we've had this out before. Comrade.

I'm in a jam. All right. I went out of it. And I won't bother you again. Just this once. And I won't disgrace you anymore. Get out. He's older than you.

And in the old country, the old country, this is the new country. This is the country some of my buddies got hurt and killed for. And this here... This... This... Watch it, watch it. Boy. You have to start something every time, don't you?

You're lucky the rest of the family's at work. You know, Mom isn't well, and you start something. Mom isn't well. Oh, brother. You're the one to holler. Mom isn't well. Why isn't she well? No, that's a beauty all right.

You're the one to talk. No, Ted. I'm all through talking. Mom isn't well. Sure, she isn't well. Sure, you're killing her. Now, get out! Get out before I hurt you.

That's fine, kid. Go on. All right, kid. I wouldn't want my kid brother to hurt me. If that's your comrade, tell him we aren't having any. All right, hot head. You're the big man today. Matthew, tell your friend who come in.

Thanks, Mom. You'll excuse me. Won't you, Comrade? He looks well on that Navy uniform, doesn't it? Matty. Matty? Answer the door. Mom tells Carmen Horvath

her simple fiction so convincingly that I almost believe it. He seems satisfied, but he isn't Rivchenko. On the way back to headquarters, the taxi stops for a light. A newsboy waves a paper out of us through the window.

I don't hear the kid. I just see the headline. The words rush out at me and type that gets bigger and blacker and louder until it explodes right in my face. Simple words. That could be my obituary. FBI seizes red atom saboteurs. Holy! Where did they get back?

Yeah, I wonder. You still insist that the letter was burdened, Comrade Savetti. That's what I say, Kammer Rovichenko. And that's what my mother told Kammerd Horvath. Sure. She said it, and it sounds good. I wasn't that the cremation, however. How do you account for this story in the newspapers, Comrade Zavich.

Sivetic. I don't know. You don't know. We have leaks in the organization. He doesn't know, Comrade, how about it? Yes, Comrade, Savetic. We have leaks in the organization. We try to plug them the best way we can.

Copies of this letter with the three of us. Why aren't you willing the other two? One at a time, comrade. And one thing at a time and first things first. Why do I rate top priority, comrade? The others returned their letters promptly when ordered. You did not. They had their letters over night.

plenty of time to inform the press or... Or... Or the FBI. Comrade, do you suggest that some member of your cell has turned traitor? You're suggesting, aren't you? You're accusing me of treason, aren't you? Has either one of us used the word treason to you?

No. Or betrayal? No. Turncoat spy has either of us cried undercover agent? FBI? No. Then why do you? The implication is certainly strong enough. It is your inference that is strong. Comrade, Savetic.

And it makes me wonder, why? Why do you feel accused when we are merely trying to search out an information leak? Then don't act as if you suspect them. We don't. No. A little disciplined, comrade. Some respect to you, please. Beck.

Sit down, comrades. Beck, you're excited. All right, I'm excited. I'm mad. Nerds. I've given years of my life to the party. I've pounded picket lines for the party and helped man your goon squads and gotten stolen and spat out for you. I've proved my loyalty to the seventh international in every possible way.

I don't have a life of my own. My life belongs to the party. I hardly have a home. But my own mother won't have me. But my kid brother hates me because they think I brought shame on the family and an early grave from my mother. Yeah. I can see it on her. I can't help it, though.

I believe in what I'm doing, and that's all. Just so. Yeah. Your excuse, comrade, Zavittic. I can go. For the time being. When does a decision come off on this? Don't worry.

We've been working on it while we've chatted here. Working on it? Excuse, Tovarish. What do you mean working? You may go, comrade. I leave. I'm not kidding myself that my outburst of indignation is fooled anybody. Maybe.

But I know it will hinge on the work they were doing while we chatted. Whether I get disciplined or not. Call it discipline. I don't dare go to a bit of a bit of a bit of it. my hotel. I know I'm being watched. I've got to go to my folks home on Stanley Avenue, because that's where the comrades think I live.

So I go home again. Call it home. I had to come back, Mom. Come in some quick. What's the matter? Two men were here. Who? I don't know. They said FBI. FBI? Briefcases, yes.

What do they want? Tell me. They said fine things about you, Matthew. Well, what fine things? Tell me. Wonderful. You were not really a communist at all, but the FBI fellow. They told you that? I was showing them up, pretending to be one of them, risking this honor and think.

What fine things you were doing for your country. Fine things they said. Oh, ma. Don't, please. What did you say? Say the truth. They laughed. But I told them the truth.

I told them you were a communist. She told them the truth. I'm glad she didn't know the truth. And this was why the FBI had told me never to tell anybody. But I was a communist for the FBI, at least of all, my own mother. Because one day two nice men with briefcases would come along and pay their respects to Mom and tell her what a fine job her son was doing for the FBI pretending to be a coming. And Mom's heart would burst with joy and relief and pride,

and she had fallen for the two smiling communist agents. send their nice briefcases and FBI credentials. And her son would die in the gutter or some stinking black waterfront or just disappear. That's how it would be if Mom ever knew the truth about me. I told them the truth that I wish, I pray to God that they were right. But they were wrong. I'm sorry, Mom. Wrong, those two communists.

You knew. Who else would say such lies to me? I'm sorry, Mom. That's the way it is, though. Goodbye, Mom. Marty? Yeah? Call me up once in a while.

Son? Yeah. And that's how it is to be me. You live in shadow. You have two people and you're nobody. Your own family cast you out. There's nobody we can turn to. That's how it is with me, but I ask for it.

I'm a communist for the FBI. I walk alone. Of obvious reasons, names, dates, and localities have been changed. But our stories are based on the real-life experiences of Matt Sevedic. And they did happen here. Next week, we'll go back to his file for another exciting adventure. We hope you'll join us then.