The Prepper Broadcasting Network - IWCF 026 - A Suit for the Party

Episode Date: April 23, 2026

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I was a communist for the FBI. Starring Dana Andrews in an exciting tale of danger of espionage. I was a communist for the FBI. From the actual records and authentic experiences of Matt Savatic, how many of the incidents in this unusual story? Here is our star Dana Andrews as Matt Savetic, who for nine fantastic years, lived as a communist for the FBI.

If you were forced to select a companion from the Communist Party, or a bedful of vermin, which would you choose? I had that choice to make once when I was a communist for the FBI. This story explains why I made the inevitable decision. In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews at Matt Zabetic, undercover man. There is Dana Andrews as Matt Sepetic, undercover man. This story from the confidential file is marked a suit for the party. Comrade Roger Grennan was an important man among the local commies.

He was district committee chairman in charge of red infiltration into civic welfare groups. But this work accounted for only a portion of his importance. Comrade Grinnan attained his true stature as a red in another more unique manner. manner to be recommended to all party members like him. On his way to a cell meeting one night, Comrade Grinnan simply dropped dead. What's for? Where are we going? Where do you think we're going, idiot? Mrs. Grininin? Now? Have a heart, Ripkin. She just buried her husband. Give her a chance to... Never mind the sentimental pap. Be ready in 15 minutes. Look, comrade, I think... Fifteen minutes, In exactly 15 minutes and 35 seconds, I was in the taxi with Comrade Jacob Rivkin.

Rivkin was definitely not the type of comma you see in those red propaganda posters. He was no square-jawed Apollo and overalls. Quite the contrary. Rivkin was a nervous, pasty-faced little man, built like a radish and just as indigestible. Though he was a ranking cell leader in the party, he had the uncanny faculty for making people dislike him on sight. His attitude toward the grief-stricken widow of the late comrade Grenon was all too typical. Mr. Rifkin, I'd rather not go through my husband's personal things now.

Maybe later on a few days. It's imperative that we find the list immediately. I told you I don't know of any list. Come on, Rickon. Some other time. Mrs. Grennan, your husband was on his way to a party meeting when he was stricken. Yes, I know that. He was bringing a list to our committee.

He must have had it in his pocket somewhere on his person. I want you to find that list for us. Please not now. I haven't been feeling very well. Maybe I can explain, Mrs. Greta. You see, this list contained the names of party members assigned by your husband to infiltrate certain welfare groups. Really, Mr. Settick, I don't care, not now. Can't you understand that?

I know it's difficult for you, Mrs. Grenin, but if those names should get out of party hands... The FBI, for instance, if the FBI or any enemy agency, for that matter, learns the names of those comrades, it would mean disaster for our cause. We need that list, Mrs. Grenon. I don't remember seeing any list or anything like that, really. What about the suit your husband was wearing? Did you go through the pocket? No, no, of course, not.

I couldn't. Then with your permission, I'll do it now. Which suit was it? His brown herringbone. It was just a bit too large for him. He's lost so much weight. I presume the suit is upstairs. Oh, come on, Carmen, not tonight.

Yes, please, some other time. Please go now. We have no intention of leaving until you tell... Oh, my sake, go away. Let me alone. Where is that suit, Mrs. Grannon? We need the list. You need the list.

You need the list. You need the list. Then find the list. Find it. Find anything you want. Just let me alone. Let me alone. Let me alone.

Now then, are his clothes upstairs? His clothes, Mrs. Brennan, his clothes, where are they? They're gone. Gone? Where? What happened to them? Take it easy, Ripon. Did you give them away?

Mrs. Gannon, to some relatives or friends? Yes, I gave them away. All right. It's clothes. Where? To whom? After the funeral. I didn't want to be reminded.

I gave everything away. Will you please make sense, Mrs. Grennan? Where are your husband's clothes? That list must be in the suit, the brown suit. All his suit. I gave them to charity. If we've lost that list, Mrs. Grenon, we will hold you fully responsible.

The party will launch a campaign of character assassination that will... Shut up, Ripkin. Do you know which charity it was, Mrs. Gennon? The Salvation Army, I guess. That must be it. The Salvation Army. Are you, are you sure?

I mean, are you sure it's the Salvation Army? Charity! You'll have to go to charity for Rogers' list. The Communists have to go to charity. Ripkin was frantic to find that list. As for me, I suffered my own secret desperation. It was my job as an undercover man to locate the list before Ripkin did and turn it over to the FBI.

But where does a dead man's brown suit go after it leads the Salvation Army? I went to the Salvation Army's main depot in that district to find out. Is that it, we have a lead anyway? What? I said we have a lead. The polls are collected here and censor the missions on something. Kid Roll. Where?

The mission on Skid Row. Well, they've got two missions down here, Comrade. You know that, don't you? Yes, yes, of course. I checked the one on Victor Street. They haven't received any clothes in over a week. Then let's go to the other one.

Just a few blocks from here. Oh, I know you're tired, brethren. I know you're worn and discouraged. But a song, brethren, a song will lift your spirit. Amen, brother. A song will send your souls along. A song will run.

reach the ears of the almighty so that he might send the angel of good fortune down to you. You've been accosted by the devil, you men. He has befoules your bodies with hunger and fatigue. But he cannot touch your souls,

brethren. Now sing then. Sing with me to the glory of the unblemish spirit. Everybody sing! Margin Simpkins, aren't you? Yes, did you on something, gentlemen? Yes, if you'd stop that inferno bleating long enough. We didn't

mean to interrupt your services, Sergeant. I'll be done shortly, gentlemen. There's two on the steam table, if you like. Perhaps you'll lend us your voices in this next hymn. We don't have time for foolishness, Sergeant. What's that? Oh, my friend is a little upset, Sergeant. It's rather an urgent matter. I see.

Well, I promise these men here one more song. If you'd be kind enough to wait until it's finished. Stop it. Stop that inferno clanking. Well, you're not only being rude, my friend. You're being positively blasphemous. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave this mission. Just a moment.

Just one moment, please. Look, Sergeant, I want to apologize for my friend here. And, well, you might. As I say, we're both pretty upset. You must be. You see, we've got a problem about some clothes that clothes. Well, you're welcome to look through the clothes in the next room. Take what fits you, and may the Lord bless you both with a little more courtesy.

Thank you, Sergeant. Come out, Medic, the suit may still be there. Anything, comrade? No, nothing, nothing at all. Svedic, if I don't find that list, the control commission... Yeah, wait a minute. Those trousers there. Where?

Yeah, down near the bottom of the park. Where? Yeah, right there. Here. Hold these. Here we are. Brown Herringbone. in good condition that's it that's grimins i've seen them wearing it quickly the pockets anything

anything there nothing in this one no i didn't here either hurry spatic check them all all of them not in any of the pocket comrade here here give them to me hey wait don't do that it may be in the lining somewhere you're ruining the trousers no nothing nothing anywhere it's gone well this may still be in the jacket oh the jacket It's gone to, probably in the back of some broken-down bun. That's hardly spoken like a friend of the masses, comrades. Oh, these derelicts are typical of the decadence of bourgeois democracy. In a true dictatorship of the proletariat, they wouldn't sing hymns for their suit.

They'd work or be liquidated. Yeah, okay. Come on. Where to? Let's start looking for the jacket. In this concrete jungle down here, impossible. It's worth a try, isn't it? Of course.

Of course. It's pathetic. Why are you so concerned? This is my responsibility. I'm the one to say. suffer if we fail to find the list. No, Rifkin, the cause will suffer. I'm as interested in that list as you are. Maybe even more interested. We explored the concrete jungle of Skid Row night and day. We took mental inventory of the derelicks on every corner, studied the flow of human

flotsam in and out of the plop houses. We prowl the alleys stepping over the defeated forms of homeless men. We wandered in and out of littered doorways. Check the tattoo parlors and ten sent movie houses. We scouted all the shadows of Skid Row. But nowhere did we see the brown herringbone jacket we were so desperate to find. It's no use, Vedic. Another day down here and I'll lose my mind. Yeah, I get I feel the same way.

Hey, watch it. Don't trip over that old geezer's feet. What? I said, careful! You useless, old fool. I'll sleep in the doorway. No place else to sleep. I told you to watch where you...

What's the matter? What do you look at you? looking at it? Huh? Oh, nothing. Nothing about. Come on. That's the matter with you, Thedek. You seem so... No, it's nothing. Nothing. I'm just getting jumping. So many days on Skid Row. I couldn't let Rikin know I'd seen it, but there it was. Grenon's brown herringbone jacket, worn by an old derelict dozing in a doorway. I had to get back to that man alone. But how? How long would he stay asleep in that doorway. And how could I get rid of Ripkin without arousing his communist trained suspicions? Sure, sure. It had to be done. And I had to do it.

But how? How? How? Andrews, starring as Matt Tebetic. And I was a communist for the FBI and the second act on our story. The Communist Party can be quite broad-minded at times. For instance, it will seldom bear a grudge if a ranking party member dies without the official permission, as long as he doesn't leave any incriminating evidence lying around where the FBI might find it. The incriminating evidence Roger Grennan left behind him was now lying in a skidro doorway in the jacket worn by a sleeping derelict. Comrade Rivkin hadn't seen the jacket, but I had, and I had to get rid of Ripkin before it was lost again. What's the matter with you, Svetick, suddenly you're as white as a sheet? Am I? Just tired, I guess, comrade. You're right. We've wasted too

much time in this dismal neighborhood, we'll have to devise a more practical plan. Thanks, Comrade Rivkin, maybe we should work this thing in shift. Well, that might work out. Sure. Look, I'll stay on the job while you rest up. Then you can relieve me in the morning. Go on. Grab that bus across the street.

I'll scout around here by myself. What's the rush, Fredik? Anxious to get rid of me? Oh, don't be off full Rivkin. You know it's the most sensible way to handle this chore. Go on, get your bus before it leaves. Let's get a bite to eat first. start.

You'll miss your bus. There's a bus every ten minutes. I know, but it's foolish to eat one of these joints when you can go on. What the devil is the matter with you, Thetic? Nothing, nothing at all. Come on, let's eat. We went into the first greasy spoon cafeteria we came to. Just around the corner, the old man in Grennan's brown jacket

lay asleep in a doorway. But how long would he stay there? Every tick of time was like a triphammer on an exposed nerve. But my good comrade, Jacob Ritkin, wanted to release. relax over his food. I led him to a table near the window where I could keep an eye on the people who turned the corner, just in case the old man should wake up and take a walk. The meal was miserable and seemed to last for eternity.

From time to time I noticed Ripkin studying me carefully. I tried to appear casual, but I guess I wasn't very successful. You're not eating much, Frederick. Oh, no. This food isn't exactly the best in town, you know. How would you know? You'll spend more time looking out the window than eating. I didn't come yet to eat this slot, Comrade.

I came to look for something vital to the welfare of the party, and that's just what I'm doing. Yes, Sennick, your vigilance is commendable. Perhaps you'd like to tell me what you're staring at now. I couldn't help staring, in spite of Rikkin. The old dare licked in Grinand's brown jacket had just turned the corner. He was shuffling up the street directly toward us.

In a moment, he would pass the window, and Ritken would have to be blind not to see him. Well, comrade, what is it? Oh, it's nothing really. Just thought I saw it. Saw what? After all, I'm as concerned as... Oh, I'm sorry, comrade.

Setic, you plumsy, idiot. Give me that naskin, hurry. Well, it's only water. It won't stain. Here, let me help you. Never mind. Never mind. I'll take care of it.

Sphetic, there are times when you're as awkward and stupid as a three-year-old. I said it was sorry, Rifkin. No harm done. All right, all right. If I'd known you'd react this way, I'd never would have had you help me. Oh, forgive me. I guess we're both getting pretty jumpy. Maybe you're right. Let's get out of here.

I don't want to miss the next bus. At least the upset glass of water prevented Ripkin from seeing the old man shuffled by the window. Now Ripkin was on the bus and gone. But the old man was gone, too. He couldn't have covered too much distance with that slow, uncertain shuffle of his. So I headed up the street after him. Once again, I was scouting the Skid Row Shadows, peering into the windows of dirty little pawn shops, tattoo parlors,

halls, but evidently the old man had gone into none of them. I stopped, trying to figure which way he might have turned, which doorway might have gobbled him up. When I noticed the only flop house on this dead-in street, Plaza Arms, said the tattered sign. Beds, 35 cents. Unless the old man could vanish into thin air, you'd have to be in there. Yeah. I'd like a room. We got flaps here, 35 cents. You want to flop?

That'll be okay. What's the matter? How come you need a flop? Why not? Man's got to sleep. You know on the street? Why? Some clues.

They're pretty good clues. Regular's down here don't wear clothes like them. Look, chum, I'm paying for bed, not a questionnaire. I'm broke. My wife cleaned out the bank accountant took off. That's satisfied you? Okay. If they're okay, don't get sore.

I just don't want those smart guys annoying my customers. What kind of smart guys? Cop. Well, cops are all right. Some fire inspectors and help officials. I can't afford no trouble here. My customers, they're entitled to a flop without trouble. Yeah.

Oh, where I find my bed? Upstairs. Got you empty. Take you the one of them. The place must have been collecting the odors of human deterioration for years. As I climbed the stairs, I could hear the heavy breathing of the sleeping men. Upstairs, there was nothing but a drafty loft. No doors, no heat.

Just a cracked skylight for ventilation. Obviously, it hadn't been opened in months. The smell was even more sickening than it was down below. Through the darkness, I could see five beds lined up against the... the far wall. Three of them were occupied. I struck a match. A man asleep in the middle bed was the old derelict in the brown herringbone jacket. A poor old guy looked like he was exhausted. He was sprawled on top of the covers out cold. I checked the pockets of the jacket, praying that he wouldn't wake up. There was nothing in the breast pocket. Nothing in either of the side pockets. The inside pocket was

empty tool, but I noticed there was a hole in it. I used my pocket knife to rip the lining. The noise took the silence like a scream. The old man stirred. He was quiet again. I reached in and felt around inside the jacket lining. My fingers closed on a piece of folded paper. The list. Grennan's list of party spies working in civic welfare groups. Now to get out of this musty hold and turn the evidence over to the FBI before... I'm down to you as I am. You ain't going upstairs, but no, I'm just looking for a friend.

I thought you... I'm not going to be a friend. Well, I don't know nothing about your friend. Now, you get out of here. Take your clothes off of you. Ripkin. He suspected me after all. The trusting soul of a train.

You get out of here. You get out of your car. Get out of my way. Oh, what I do you don't? Hey, come back here you. I looked around in panic. A back door, a closet, a fire escape. Anything to hide before Ripkin saw me.

He was practically up the stairs now. There was only one thing for me to do. I jumped into one of the empty cotton, huddled in a smelly crawling blanket. I knew he was looking for me, but the darkness was in my fever. I held my breath, wondering how long it would be before he discovered me.

I heard him strike a match. He was looking at the man in the first bed. He was at the second bed now. I began to understand how Goldilocks felt when she heard the table. Three bears come home. But Goldilocks wasn't sleeping in a stale, vermin-infested flop-house cop.

Ritken had another match going. He was headed for the third bed now, the bed next to mine. He'd seen the old man in Grimmons' brown jacket. I peeked out from under the covers and saw Rifkin drop to his knees and start raffling the sleeping man's pockets. There's my guy over.

Look at him. All right, see. What? Now, just a minute. There's a mistake here. He pushed in here, forced his way upstairs, and now we catch him picking the customer's plastic while he sleep. Come on, buddy, come on.

It doesn't mistake I can do. Look, Officer, I haven't taken anything from anyone. Come on, you're waking everybody up. Hey, here, Officer, look, this old guy's jacket. He's nice of lying in even. He's out of his mind, officer. I didn't. I had no idea.

You had no idea. Well, I got ideas. I got some pretty crummy ideas about you. Come on. This is an outbreak. The door full of spider. Shut up. Move.

Come on. And the police have the management, get you go back to sleep. Okay. I'd have to go barge and then worry, he ain't wanted. You're up early, don't you? He didn't hardly like you.

Yeah. Say, have you got an envelope I can use? I got to mail something to a friend. Here, is this okay? That's fine. Thanks. Say, I'm sorry about that lump of a friend. Didn't want to disturb nobody.

Don't worry about it. I guess he had it coming to him. Yeah. Do you know something? Hannigan, the cop. He'd come back later. And you know what he told me? What?

That guy's not only a pickpocket. He's a big-shot communist. I bet you the Red will take care of him. Yeah, they probably will. Can you imagine them Reds? They're liable to turn up anywhere. That's right, chum. Anywhere.

walked down the street to the corner and mailed the list of party names to the FBI. Then I looked back at that Skid Row Flop House. Last night, I'd been given a choice, a bed full of vermin or Comrade Rivkin. The choice was obvious. I turned the corner and walked away. Two broken down derelicts trudged past me. Defeated men walking together. No homes, no hope, no dreams. But they walk together. Well, I... I walk alone.