Spring Death Is `Round the Corner

Broadway's My Beat from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the goddess, the most violent, the lonesome must mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat with very Thor as detective Danny Clover. March and the young winds of spring begin the reconnaissance of Broadway.

The probing action for places to set up shop, push car to the flower of Andor for instance, whose numb fingers wrap clusters of frost-burned buds in yesterday's newspaper. February newspaper, and in stray of silken hair tied across the child's winter-worn face, and ripple through fur held close to a woman's throat and her attentive gesture of unclasping it.

And some were in city of small monkey dances, strains of the leash, and the battered hat to an organ grinder, grins. So get with it, the spring dance is just around the corner. Early afternoon of March, some corridor of a rooming house winter holds into a room the man staring into wall hands flenched white on the

rocking chair man and year-long winter room rocking staring silent and the detective who speaks for him just like that Danny man hasn't stopped I haven't hit 20 minutes now he hasn't stopped I try to get through to him nothing he just rocks I've been told it's all night now and this morning He told you that.

Finally. Driving out of a mind the way he is. The creek, the rocker, makes through with sweets. He called in, said, get him out of here. And gone out of my mind, she said. Who is it?

I said he was Harry Carson. Run of this room for years. Never had trouble before with him, he said. A sick man. A lost man. That's big trouble, my daddy. Mr. Carson, what is it?