The toll mounted last week. One man was brained with a monkey wrench as he lay sleeping. A woman, tied to a chair, was tortured with a carving knife until she died; two stripteasers were sliced to death with razors; four gangsters were shot down in a columnist's living room; a bartender was murdered in his own saloon, and a small boy was killed by a drunken hit & run driver. A few victims survived, including the two teen-agers who were only beaten to a pulp, and the woman in the flimsy nightgown who was mauled by masked intruders in her bedroom, and the engraver who was shot through his working hand.
All this slaughter and assault took place, respectively, on TV's Rocky King, Dragnet, The Mask, Front Page Detective, Martin Kane, The Big Story, Big Town, The Man Behind the Badge, and Foreign Intrigue. More people are killed each year on TV's crime shows than die annually by murder and non-negligent manslaughter in the six largest cities of the U.S. But, in one respect, television has a better record than the nation's police: every TV lawbreaker pays the penalty for his crime.
Out on a Case. The best of the crime shows, NBC's Dragnet, is good enough to challenge I Love Lucy as the nation's favorite show. Many of its phrases ("We just want the facts, ma'am") and its bashful but brave hero, Sergeant Joe Friday (played by Jack Webb), have passed into U.S. folklore. Across the country, children shout: "Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday!" When asked what happened to Friday, they scream: "He's out on a case!" An orchestration of Dragnet's ponderous musical theme (DUM-da-da-DUM) became No. 7 on the Hit Parade, and the show's deadpan characters have been parodied on such bestselling records as St. George and the Dragonet and Little Blue Riding Hood.
Between Dragnet and the pack is a qualitative difference. CBS's new The Man Behind the Badge, which borrows techniques both from Dragnet and The Big Story, may develop into a close rival. Badge skillfully adds a dash of sex to its sadism, and makes the dose palatable to the squeamish with a high-sounding dedication to such unsung public servants as probation officers, women wardens, youth counselors and tracers of missing persons.
The oldest TV sleuths are Ken Lynch of The Plainclothesman and Ralph Bellamy of Man Against Crime, who have spent the last five years laboriously tracking down evildoers. Most TV cops and private eyes have a tendency to lose their revolvers at crucial points in the narrative. This mishap insures a bang-up last-minute fist fight to get the gun back and has the added attraction, of taking the viewers' minds off the idiocy of the plot.