Captives in the Sea of Dreams; (science fantasy novel) The plot involves UFO abductions, Martian society, and a daring escape from Mars.
A Dream of the Morning; (historical fantasy novel) four young siblings journey from northern Ireland and across England to a new life in the Williamsburg District of South Carolina in the year 1770.
Superlative South Carolina; (general reference book) 600 things about South Carolina that are the first, the oldest, the biggest, the foremost, or otherwise superlative. Not surprisingly, around 200 of them are in the Charleston area.
The All-American Excuse Book; (Written by Jerry Mills and Will McKay) your guidebook to creative self justification.
The Legend of Lovers' Temple; a 7,600-line epic poem of a family in Taiwan from 1886-1975; inspired by Chinese myths, Taiwanese history, and a true love story.
Ebenezer Christian and the Three Christmas Spirits; (novella) a Christian family that loved Christmas discover the true meaning of Christmas.
Heroes and Heroism in Western Literature; (book) an examination of four heroic models in Western literature: Greco-Roman, Medieval, modern, and anti-hero.
Truth in the Balance; (book) What the Bible says about our environmental responsibilities.
Journey to the East; (stage play) inspired by the beloved Chinese novel Journey to the West. Like the Chinese novel, Journey to the East is, at once, an episodic, whimsical fairy tale and a social and religious allegory.
Monitoring Corporate Social Responsibility; (doctoral dissertation) Business, society, and the environment are mutually interdependent; thus, the ideal business model dovetails business needs and goals with the needs of society and the environment. Supply chains, however, have become so long and complicated that has become necessary to employ state-of-the-art technology to monitor CSR through shared information all along the supply chain.
American Action Report; a non-partisan blog dedicated to bringing Americans together, with the aims of restoring representative government and "doing all that is necessary to achieve a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations." Click here for the American Action Report.
Coming soon:
The Untold Story of the Little Mermaid; (allegorical novella) originally conceived to teach the art of the novel, The Untold Story of the Little Mermaid has more fully developed characters, plot twists, and other literary conventions of the novel than Hans Christian Andersen's short story The Mermaid.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Appendix B: Other Information Concerning the System
FBI records reveal that the System is still in existence.
You've probably imagined that the System had something to do with the Ford Motor Company coming out with the Edsel in 1958; and that they were behind the Coca-Cola Company's marketing of New Coke in 1986. You may have even suspected the System of convincing President Jimmy Carter to make his "malaise" speech, or of telling President George Bush, since the 1992 elections were a whole year away, the voters wouldn't remember that he had raised their taxes during a recession.
The System had nothing to do with their monumental boo-boos. For at least two reasons, the System avoids trying to foul up the lives of the high and mighty.
The first reason is, the slips and fumbles of those on the top rung of the ladder of success tend to give some consolation to those on the bottom rung.
The System prefers that the lowly and helpless have no source of consolation, which, I must add, is a major reason they convinced the Supreme Court that the mention of God has no place in American education, leaving only the doctrine that each student is the product of random chance and other impersonal influences beyond the scope of each person's responsibility--and that each person, after all, is just an animal only a little more complex than (but not superior to) the apes.
(Having accomplished this end, the System managed to bring about the disarming of school officials and security personnel, thereby turning American schools into free-fire zones for students who go ape. The System has increased the chances of this happening by convincing doctors that the active nature of teenagers is abnormal and must be corrected with psychotropic drugs.)
The second reason is the high and mighty do a swell job of fouling up their own lives. Because they can afford to eat anything they wish, and for other reasons related to wealth and power, they have shorter-than-average life expectancies. Further, the seeds of self-destruction often are germinated in a climate of success, bearing fruit when they are watered by delusions of invincibility.
I won't burden you with examples. I'm sure you can come up with many of your own. (What was the name of that golfer who was a celebrated role model?)
The System, not content with merely fouling up the lives of innocent people, does everything it can to add insult to injury. In order to make life worse for talented, hard-working failures, the System engineers the success of people with little or no talent.
As a means of self-congratulation for their efforts, the System secretly maintains a Hall of Fame for Mediocre Americans.
In their Hall of Fame, they claim responsibility for the success of many Americans who have displayed a remarkable lack of talent in their chosen fields. The Hall of Fame for Mediocre Americans includes, but is not limited to, Ed McMahon, Derwood Kirby, Donnie Osmond, Tom Cruise, Dan Quayle, Gerald Ford, George W. Bush, and, of course, Barack Obama. The entrance to the Hall is graced by a life-sized statue of Sonny Bono, whose name has become a metaphor for successful Americans with no talent.
There is said to be an exhibit honoring people who barely knew they were in the world, and who should be declared brain-dead, yet became rich "authors" (due to the work of ghost writers) simply by being picked as jurors at sensational murder trials. (What was the name of that ex-football player who said that taking a butcher knife to his wife like a benihana chef proved that he loved her?) Be assured that I am doing all I can to keep track of the nefarious activities of the System. America must be made safe for hardworking, talented people who fail through no fault of their own.
You've probably imagined that the System had something to do with the Ford Motor Company coming out with the Edsel in 1958; and that they were behind the Coca-Cola Company's marketing of New Coke in 1986. You may have even suspected the System of convincing President Jimmy Carter to make his "malaise" speech, or of telling President George Bush, since the 1992 elections were a whole year away, the voters wouldn't remember that he had raised their taxes during a recession.
The System had nothing to do with their monumental boo-boos. For at least two reasons, the System avoids trying to foul up the lives of the high and mighty.
The first reason is, the slips and fumbles of those on the top rung of the ladder of success tend to give some consolation to those on the bottom rung.
The System prefers that the lowly and helpless have no source of consolation, which, I must add, is a major reason they convinced the Supreme Court that the mention of God has no place in American education, leaving only the doctrine that each student is the product of random chance and other impersonal influences beyond the scope of each person's responsibility--and that each person, after all, is just an animal only a little more complex than (but not superior to) the apes.
(Having accomplished this end, the System managed to bring about the disarming of school officials and security personnel, thereby turning American schools into free-fire zones for students who go ape. The System has increased the chances of this happening by convincing doctors that the active nature of teenagers is abnormal and must be corrected with psychotropic drugs.)
The second reason is the high and mighty do a swell job of fouling up their own lives. Because they can afford to eat anything they wish, and for other reasons related to wealth and power, they have shorter-than-average life expectancies. Further, the seeds of self-destruction often are germinated in a climate of success, bearing fruit when they are watered by delusions of invincibility.
I won't burden you with examples. I'm sure you can come up with many of your own. (What was the name of that golfer who was a celebrated role model?)
The System, not content with merely fouling up the lives of innocent people, does everything it can to add insult to injury. In order to make life worse for talented, hard-working failures, the System engineers the success of people with little or no talent.
As a means of self-congratulation for their efforts, the System secretly maintains a Hall of Fame for Mediocre Americans.
In their Hall of Fame, they claim responsibility for the success of many Americans who have displayed a remarkable lack of talent in their chosen fields. The Hall of Fame for Mediocre Americans includes, but is not limited to, Ed McMahon, Derwood Kirby, Donnie Osmond, Tom Cruise, Dan Quayle, Gerald Ford, George W. Bush, and, of course, Barack Obama. The entrance to the Hall is graced by a life-sized statue of Sonny Bono, whose name has become a metaphor for successful Americans with no talent.
There is said to be an exhibit honoring people who barely knew they were in the world, and who should be declared brain-dead, yet became rich "authors" (due to the work of ghost writers) simply by being picked as jurors at sensational murder trials. (What was the name of that ex-football player who said that taking a butcher knife to his wife like a benihana chef proved that he loved her?) Be assured that I am doing all I can to keep track of the nefarious activities of the System. America must be made safe for hardworking, talented people who fail through no fault of their own.
Appendix A: Mysterious Deaths of Key Witnesses
Some of the most revealing evidence of a conspiracy in the death of President Kennedy is the high mortality rate among key witnesses to the assassination. During the fourteen years following the assassination, at least 48 people described as key witnesses died unnatural deaths. Sixteen of those who died unnatural deaths did so in a period of under two years. During that same fourteen-year period, 53 key witnesses died of supposedly natural causes. Reportedly, the esteemed insurance company Lloyd's of London was asked to do an actuarial study to determine the probability of 16 key witnesses dying unnatural deaths within two years of the assassination. The odds against all 16 key witnesses dying of unnatural causes within that two-year period was over ten trillion to one.
The causes of death for the 53 key witnesses are officially listed as follows: 17 murders, eight suicides, three accidental shootings, five airplane or helicopter crashes, four car crashes, two struck by automotive vehicles, two falls, two drug overdoses, two electrocutions, one accidental explosion, one fire and one blow to the neck.
Arguably, most of those key witnesses were in lines of work that would tend to shorten their life expectancy. Of the 48 key witnesses to die unnatural deaths between 1963 and 1978, 14 were alleged gangsters or associates of gangsters, two were private detectives or their associates, four were soldiers of fortune, two were law enforcement officers or stool pigeons, two were connected to the CIA, four were military personnel, one was a heroin addict, one was a cab driver and three were investigative reporters or their relatives. Of several others who died in airplane crashes, all of them regularly flew, often in privately-owned, propeller-driven airplanes. Still, as many as a third of the key witnesses who died unnatural deaths had not been in high-risk occupations.
In determining the odds of that many key witnesses dying unnatural deaths, it is natural to ask, "How many key witnesses were there before they started dropping like flies; and what qualifications must they have had to be considered key witnesses?"
The first question is impossible to answer, because they cover such a wide range of human activities. They may have been present at Dealy Plaza on the day of the assassination or on the Dallas police force around that time. They may have been reporters who covered the story, or they may have been their relatives. One had served on the Warren Commission. Others may have had close contact with one of the commissioners. There are many other areas in which key witnesses may be found.
Most key witnesses had not been identified as such until after they brought attention to themselves by dying.
The second question is much easier to answer. We would have reason to believe that someone is a key witness if he was present at Dealy Plaza on the day of the assassination, or if he had had contact with one or more of the principle characters known to be, or suspected of being, involved in the assassination; or if he in some way investigated the assassination or was close to such an investigator.
If someone who might be a key witness turns up dead, that would prove—ipso facto—that he had been a key witness. After all, if he were not a key witness to the assassination, why would anyone kill him to keep him from talking about it? It's a pity that serious investigators of the Kennedy assassination are not as adept at identifying key witnesses as are those who kill them. If they were, they could learn what the witnesses know before it's too late to ask them.
There is one aspect of the mysterious deaths of key witnesses that deserves much more attention than it is getting. That is the 53 key witnesses who died of apparently natural causes. As you will soon see, these so-called natural deaths are more revealing than the obviously unnatural deaths.
First, let's take a quick look at the alleged causes of death of these 53 witnesses.
Thirty-six died of heart attacks or complications due to heart disease; one died during heart surgery, 24 died of cancer; one died from liver disease and one died of a stroke due to a blood clot. A CIA chief was once quoted as saying, "A conspiracy is successful if it remains a secret from inception to infinity." Another homily concerning conspiracies runs, "The first job of a conspiracy is to convince people that there is no conspiracy."
All of the deaths among key witnesses to the Kennedy assassination are perfectly in keeping with these views of conspiracy. Two things would prevent a murder from being investigated: either it is believed to have been solved already, or it is not recognized as a murder.
Though it would take a high degree of technical knowledge—a point we will address shortly—all 53 of the apparently natural deaths could have been cleverly-disguised murders.
Of all the means of killing someone and making it look like natural causes, the heart attack is the simplest and easiest. In the "wet affairs" department of the KGB, the most common method is hydrocyanic acid. A spray of hydrocyanic acid in the face will immediately induce heart failure. Hydrocyanic acid is so volatile, that it will completely leave the bloodstream in a matter of minutes. For that reason, it is virtually undetectable. Hydrocyanic acid may be sprayed from something as simple as a rolled-up newspaper, though the department of "wet affairs" preferred to conceal it in a specially-equipped umbrella.
One of these heart attack deaths was that of FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, who died in his sleep on the night of May 1-2, 1972. It is highly suspicious that the KGB's most significant enemy was killed during the international communist holiday. This is not to suggest, though, that the KGB was involved in the planning and assassination of President Kennedy. Once the assassination took place, though, it may have been necessary for them to do all they could to rub out people who could have proven Oswald's connection to the KGB in earlier matters. That connection, if discovered, could have caused them to be blamed for the assassination.
Though the KGB had the technical expertise to carry out the killing of J. Edgar Hoover and others, their organizational expertise to carry out those operations within the United States was not sufficient. They would have to have had the cooperation of the CIA.
Let us proceed with our discussion of the other suspicious deaths.
Since heart surgery is an extremely delicate operation, it's easier to kill the patient than to save him. The witness who died during heart surgery was William Harvey, a CIA official, sometimes called "America's James Bond,” who was familiar with the CIA's attempts to kill Fidel Castro.
As almost everyone knows, cancer may be induced by a variety of means, all of which involve some type of radiation. It may be induced by radioactive isotopes, X-rays, ultra-violet rays, gamma radiation, microwaves or by other means. The victim is a gone gobbler, and there can be no proof that he was murdered.
Liver failure is a bit more difficult to induce, but it can be done. First, alcohol must be somehow introduced into the victim's bloodstream. It would certainly be helpful if the victim is an alcoholic, for then, his liver is already weakened. Otherwise, a more exotic means must be found. Once a sufficient amount of alcohol is in his bloodstream, he can be murdered by someone disguised as a cleaning lady. When the victim breathes fumes from the furniture polish, the fumes will soon enter his bloodstream and combine with the alcohol in his system. Once this deadly combination reaches his liver, he's as dead as last Thanksgiving's turkey.
Jack Ruby died of a stroke due to a blood clot. Several things can cause a blood clot, so it is a matter of conjecture just how Ruby's blood clot was formed. Some people's bodies have difficulty assimilating certain kinds of proteins. Remember that Jack Ruby died in the custody of the Dallas Police Department, so they had total control over his diet. If he were deprived of Protein-C, or if his body were chemically induced to reject Protein-C, a blood clot would have formed in an artery or a vein. If it had formed in the vein and were left unattended, the clot could have gone to his lung and killed him. The official cause of death would have been a pulmonary thrombosis. If the clot had formed in his artery, which it did, it would have gone to his brain and caused a stroke.
It would have taken, I must reiterate, a high degree of technical and organizational expertise to have engineered 53 murders in such a way as to make them look like deaths by natural causes. That's why I believe that the supposedly natural deaths are more significant than the 48 obviously unnatural deaths. The CIA is the only group of people in America that has that kind of expertise. All those apparently natural deaths, then, clearly prove that the CIA was involved.
The causes of death for the 53 key witnesses are officially listed as follows: 17 murders, eight suicides, three accidental shootings, five airplane or helicopter crashes, four car crashes, two struck by automotive vehicles, two falls, two drug overdoses, two electrocutions, one accidental explosion, one fire and one blow to the neck.
Arguably, most of those key witnesses were in lines of work that would tend to shorten their life expectancy. Of the 48 key witnesses to die unnatural deaths between 1963 and 1978, 14 were alleged gangsters or associates of gangsters, two were private detectives or their associates, four were soldiers of fortune, two were law enforcement officers or stool pigeons, two were connected to the CIA, four were military personnel, one was a heroin addict, one was a cab driver and three were investigative reporters or their relatives. Of several others who died in airplane crashes, all of them regularly flew, often in privately-owned, propeller-driven airplanes. Still, as many as a third of the key witnesses who died unnatural deaths had not been in high-risk occupations.
In determining the odds of that many key witnesses dying unnatural deaths, it is natural to ask, "How many key witnesses were there before they started dropping like flies; and what qualifications must they have had to be considered key witnesses?"
The first question is impossible to answer, because they cover such a wide range of human activities. They may have been present at Dealy Plaza on the day of the assassination or on the Dallas police force around that time. They may have been reporters who covered the story, or they may have been their relatives. One had served on the Warren Commission. Others may have had close contact with one of the commissioners. There are many other areas in which key witnesses may be found.
Most key witnesses had not been identified as such until after they brought attention to themselves by dying.
The second question is much easier to answer. We would have reason to believe that someone is a key witness if he was present at Dealy Plaza on the day of the assassination, or if he had had contact with one or more of the principle characters known to be, or suspected of being, involved in the assassination; or if he in some way investigated the assassination or was close to such an investigator.
If someone who might be a key witness turns up dead, that would prove—ipso facto—that he had been a key witness. After all, if he were not a key witness to the assassination, why would anyone kill him to keep him from talking about it? It's a pity that serious investigators of the Kennedy assassination are not as adept at identifying key witnesses as are those who kill them. If they were, they could learn what the witnesses know before it's too late to ask them.
There is one aspect of the mysterious deaths of key witnesses that deserves much more attention than it is getting. That is the 53 key witnesses who died of apparently natural causes. As you will soon see, these so-called natural deaths are more revealing than the obviously unnatural deaths.
First, let's take a quick look at the alleged causes of death of these 53 witnesses.
Thirty-six died of heart attacks or complications due to heart disease; one died during heart surgery, 24 died of cancer; one died from liver disease and one died of a stroke due to a blood clot. A CIA chief was once quoted as saying, "A conspiracy is successful if it remains a secret from inception to infinity." Another homily concerning conspiracies runs, "The first job of a conspiracy is to convince people that there is no conspiracy."
All of the deaths among key witnesses to the Kennedy assassination are perfectly in keeping with these views of conspiracy. Two things would prevent a murder from being investigated: either it is believed to have been solved already, or it is not recognized as a murder.
Though it would take a high degree of technical knowledge—a point we will address shortly—all 53 of the apparently natural deaths could have been cleverly-disguised murders.
Of all the means of killing someone and making it look like natural causes, the heart attack is the simplest and easiest. In the "wet affairs" department of the KGB, the most common method is hydrocyanic acid. A spray of hydrocyanic acid in the face will immediately induce heart failure. Hydrocyanic acid is so volatile, that it will completely leave the bloodstream in a matter of minutes. For that reason, it is virtually undetectable. Hydrocyanic acid may be sprayed from something as simple as a rolled-up newspaper, though the department of "wet affairs" preferred to conceal it in a specially-equipped umbrella.
One of these heart attack deaths was that of FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, who died in his sleep on the night of May 1-2, 1972. It is highly suspicious that the KGB's most significant enemy was killed during the international communist holiday. This is not to suggest, though, that the KGB was involved in the planning and assassination of President Kennedy. Once the assassination took place, though, it may have been necessary for them to do all they could to rub out people who could have proven Oswald's connection to the KGB in earlier matters. That connection, if discovered, could have caused them to be blamed for the assassination.
Though the KGB had the technical expertise to carry out the killing of J. Edgar Hoover and others, their organizational expertise to carry out those operations within the United States was not sufficient. They would have to have had the cooperation of the CIA.
Let us proceed with our discussion of the other suspicious deaths.
Since heart surgery is an extremely delicate operation, it's easier to kill the patient than to save him. The witness who died during heart surgery was William Harvey, a CIA official, sometimes called "America's James Bond,” who was familiar with the CIA's attempts to kill Fidel Castro.
As almost everyone knows, cancer may be induced by a variety of means, all of which involve some type of radiation. It may be induced by radioactive isotopes, X-rays, ultra-violet rays, gamma radiation, microwaves or by other means. The victim is a gone gobbler, and there can be no proof that he was murdered.
Liver failure is a bit more difficult to induce, but it can be done. First, alcohol must be somehow introduced into the victim's bloodstream. It would certainly be helpful if the victim is an alcoholic, for then, his liver is already weakened. Otherwise, a more exotic means must be found. Once a sufficient amount of alcohol is in his bloodstream, he can be murdered by someone disguised as a cleaning lady. When the victim breathes fumes from the furniture polish, the fumes will soon enter his bloodstream and combine with the alcohol in his system. Once this deadly combination reaches his liver, he's as dead as last Thanksgiving's turkey.
Jack Ruby died of a stroke due to a blood clot. Several things can cause a blood clot, so it is a matter of conjecture just how Ruby's blood clot was formed. Some people's bodies have difficulty assimilating certain kinds of proteins. Remember that Jack Ruby died in the custody of the Dallas Police Department, so they had total control over his diet. If he were deprived of Protein-C, or if his body were chemically induced to reject Protein-C, a blood clot would have formed in an artery or a vein. If it had formed in the vein and were left unattended, the clot could have gone to his lung and killed him. The official cause of death would have been a pulmonary thrombosis. If the clot had formed in his artery, which it did, it would have gone to his brain and caused a stroke.
It would have taken, I must reiterate, a high degree of technical and organizational expertise to have engineered 53 murders in such a way as to make them look like deaths by natural causes. That's why I believe that the supposedly natural deaths are more significant than the 48 obviously unnatural deaths. The CIA is the only group of people in America that has that kind of expertise. All those apparently natural deaths, then, clearly prove that the CIA was involved.
Epilogue
John F. Kennedy rose in the ranks of Spacefleet Command. When
Captain Kook died as a result of being beamed into the same square yard of land that was occupied by a fence post, Kennedy became the captain of the Lula Belle.
Spaceship Captain Kennedy served few years in that position, then he returned to earth, traveling back to the twentieth century to the year 1977.
Since Kennedy's retirement from Spacefleet Command, he and Elvis Presley have been living incognito on a small, private island in Hawaii. Sources say they've shared many a rich laugh over the attention they've been getting all these years.
Captain Kook died as a result of being beamed into the same square yard of land that was occupied by a fence post, Kennedy became the captain of the Lula Belle.
Spaceship Captain Kennedy served few years in that position, then he returned to earth, traveling back to the twentieth century to the year 1977.
Since Kennedy's retirement from Spacefleet Command, he and Elvis Presley have been living incognito on a small, private island in Hawaii. Sources say they've shared many a rich laugh over the attention they've been getting all these years.
Post Assassination Events
Meanwhile, back at Parkland Hospital, doctors were working furiously to save the Vicarian's life, thinking he was President Kennedy. The President, in fact, was aboard the Spaceship Lula Belle, watching the news on television.
At the moment the public was informed that "President Kennedy" had died, the real John F. Kennedy sighed, "I can never go back to Earth. With all the medical advancements you have, could you not have allowed me to get shot and then restore me to health?"
"No, Mr. President," Doctor McKay replied. "The human brain is the most complex object in the known universe. What's more, damaged brain tissue can never be restored. If you had been shot as the Vicarian was shot, and we had managed to keep you alive, you could never have the awareness to serve as President or even to tender your resignation. You—our President—would have no more mental capacity than—“ He paused. Collecting himself, Bonehead continued, “—than a Hollywood actor."
John F. Kennedy trembled at the thought.
* * *
Carlos "Mellow" Marcello was with several of his legitimate business associates when he heard about President Kennedy's supposed death. Remembering the bet he had made with Jimmy the geek, he said to one of his associates, "Tell Jimmy he owes me big!" Conspiracy buffs, taking that remark out of context, claim that remark was evidence that "Mellow" Marcello had ordered the President's murder on behalf of Jimmy Hoffa.
* * *
Seth Kantor, "a respected journalist and member of the Washington press corps," was covering the story that day. According to Kantor, Jack Ruby, an old acquaintance of his, greeted him at Parkland Hospital around 2:00 P.M. the day of the assassination.
Most conspiracy buffs believe that Ruby was there to plant the infamous "magic bullet" on Governor Connoly's stretcher. More likely, he was there to supervise Seth Kantor's efforts to do this. I'm still looking into that possibility.
* * *
The Kennedy entourage quickly located a bronze-tone shipping casket and rushed the Vicarian's body past Parkland's doctors to the Air Force One. Since a Presidential assassination, at that time, was not federal offense, they feared the sheriff would be along to stop them. After all, as the protesting doctors declared, it was a state crime, and the autopsy should be done in Dallas.
If Lyndon Johnson could possibly help it, no one would perform the autopsy until his cohorts could make some changes in the body. Any bullets entering from the front would have to be removed. All entry wounds coming from the direction of the grassy knoll would have to be changed to look like exit wounds.
Once the casket was aboard the Air Force One, it was bolted to the floor.
The ever-faithful Godfrey McHugh, determined never to leave the President's side until the autopsy began, stood vigil beside the coffin. Through a psychological process called confabulation, he completely forgot that he had been separated from the body on two crucial occasions.
Confabulation is a trick of memory that happens to all of us from time to time. Our "memories" may be flawed by versions of that event told by others, by events that had happened before or since, or by wishful thinking. Loyal as a bird dog, Godfrey McHugh needed to remember himself as never having left the President's body; therefore, that's how he remembered it.
Everyone else remembered having left the casket at various times. Unless there was a time when all of the Kennedy entourage left the casket at the same time, the body could not have been removed from the casket for secret alterations.
For that reason, we know beyond any doubt that Godfrey McHugh's "memories" of the event was a trick of confabulation.
The first crucial period, according to David S. Lifton, author of Best Evidence, was between 2:18 and 2:32. At that time, McHugh was in the forward part of the aircraft, and Mrs. Kennedy was in her bedroom aboard the aircraft.
Lyndon Johnson called the two remaining members of the entourage—Kenneth O'Donnell and Larry O'Brien—to his stateroom. For 14 minutes, during which Johnson repeatedly prevented the plane from taking off, the casket was unattended.
The Vicarian's body was placed in a large suitcase and wheeled past Johnson, O'Brien and O'Donnell to the forward galley and out of the plane through the galley door. A waiting helicopter whisked the body away to the Fort Worth Airport to be loaded aboard a jet. Minutes later, Johnson ordered the pilot to head for Washington.
The Air Force One followed a zig-zag route to Washington, which is a standard means of evading possible attack from the ground or from other aircraft. Because of this flight pattern, the Air Force One arrived in Washington much later than the jet carrying the Vicarian's body.
As it turned out, it wasn't necessary to alter the body, because no bullets had struck the Vicarian from any place other than the Dallas School Book Depository. They didn't know that, however, until after they had removed the Vicarian's brain.
After the Air Force One arrived at the U. S. Navy hospital in Bethesda, the conspirators had to go through a shell game to return the Vicarian's body to the casket that was unloaded from the Air Force One.
We have David S. Lifton to thank for ferreting out the details of how this was accomplished. They used a second casket, a decoy ambulance and a whole raft of other subterfuges. The driver of the decoy ambulance, which held the Vicarian's body, had to put the pedal to the metal to lose vehicles that had been assigned to accompany the real ambulance, which contained an empty coffin. In the chase, the real ambulance had to be---well, I won't ruin a perfectly interesting story by getting bogged down in details.
* * *
Lee Harvey Oswald was still subject to Dr. Spruthers's post-hypnotic suggestion that he could escape prosecution by claiming to be from the planet "Pat.” He repeatedly exclaimed, "I didn't kill nobody. I'm just a Patsy."
It didn't save Oswald from further trouble. In fact, the Dallas police officers didn't even let him finish watching his movie.
At seven o'clock on the night of the assassination, Oswald was paraded in front of dozens of newsmen. Jack Ruby, with a suspicious bulge under his coat, stood only a few feet from Oswald. Since he was holding a pad and pencil in his hands, most of those present thought he was a reporter. District Attorney Henry M. Wade introduced his prisoner as "Lee Henry Oswald.”
"Lee Harvey Oswald," Jack Ruby corrected. News reporters scratched the name Henry from their pads and wrote in Harvey.
In the course of the news conference, Wade said that Oswald was a member of the "Free Cuba Committee.” Ruby raised his pencil and corrected, "Fair Play for Cuba Committee.” Some reporters wondered how Ruby could have known that bit of information before it had time to be released to the public. Seeing the look of embarrassment on Wade's face, though, told them that Ruby was right again.
Seeing that Jack Ruby seemed to know more about Oswald and the Kennedy assassination than the District Attorney knew, the reporters then began directing their questions to Jack Ruby. Wade, Oswald and his guard Detective A. M. Eberhardt shrugged their shoulders and left the room. Oswald was heartbroken over the way Jack Ruby had upstaged him on the most important evening of his life. He knew that in two days he would be publicly escorted to a more secure jail. He hoped that Jack Ruby would not ruin that occasion for him, too.
Eberhardt escorted the dejected Oswald back to his cell.
* * *
Aboard the Spaceship Lula Belle, Captain Kook sighed, "Who could possibly have known? Virtually every assassination theory was, in its own way, the correct answer to the question of who killed President Kennedy."
"That's most affirmative, Captain," said Mr. Spook. "Assassination theorists have variously placed the gunman, or gunmen, at the grassy knoll, the school book depository, the Dal-Tex Building and on the street. They were all there. At the same time, since only Oswald's shots struck their target, Oswald was, as some have said, the lone gunman."
"Moreover," added Captain Kook, "there was a massive conspiracy to kill President Kennedy, involving the CIA, the FBI, military-industrial complex, the Mafia, Richard Nixon, Lyndon Johnson, Dr. Joy Spruthers, and even Shari Lewis' hand puppet Lambchops. In the end, they were all superfluous. Since Oswald alone fired the fatal shots, both the conspiracy and the cover-up were completely unnecessary. Other than lending encouragement to Oswald, the conspirators, for all practical purposes, did absolutely nothing to further the plot."
"There are four other assassination theories you haven’t mentioned," Dr. McKay chimed in. "According to one theory, President Kennedy survived his wounds, although he was rendered incapable of serving out his term as President. That's certainly true, since he didn't receive any wounds; and since he must remain here with us, he can no longer serve as President. According to another theory, a body double was killed in his place. One version of that theory is, he was saved by space aliens. Yet another theory suggests that Kennedy, for whatever reason, faked his own death with some help from Elvis Presley."
"Fascinating!" Mr. Spook exclaimed.
"Okay, I've seen enough," said Captain Kook. "Let's get the heck out of Dodge."
"Wait a minute," Kennedy protested. "A massive conspiracy involving key government figures has just removed me from the presidency. Even though I'm not really dead, from what you tell me, this is the most written about, most controversial crime in history. Aren't you going to do something to bring those people to justice?"
The crewmembers on the bridge of the Lula Belle looked surprised that former President Kennedy should ask that question. "No," they all replied.
"No? And why not?"
"We're from the twenty-secondth century," Mr. Spook replied. "Long before we were born, every one of the conspirators had died. If your religion is correct, they will have had already been punished by a Higher Court."
"Then why did you go to all this trouble, going back to the twentieth century to save my life?"
"We didn't," Captain Kook reminded Mr. Kennedy. "We came back here to see Elvis Presley. Saving your life was an afterthought." The former President was hurt by that remark. "Cheer up," Captain Kook smiled. "You'll love the future. We'll even make you an officer in our crew and teach you how to fly this crate. And if you ever get tired of all this, just remember that Elvis Presley promised that you could stay with him at Graceland."
After awhile, Kennedy began to look forward to his new life as an astronaut.
"Okay, gang," said Captain Kook to his crew, "we're not getting any younger. Let's make like Humpty-Dumpty and get crackin’. Mr. Dzau-le, chart a course for Ramma-lamma-ding-dong."
"Aye-aye, Captain," Mr. Dzau-le responded.
"Ensign Jackass, full speed ahead."
"Aye-aye, Captain," Ensign Jackass responded.
"Lieutenant O'Hara, fetch me a cup of coffee."
"Get it yourself, you male, chauvinist pig!"
"Sheesh! How I hate the late twentieth century! Mr. Spook!"
"Yes, Captain?"
"A little traveling music!"
"Aye-aye, Captain!" Mr. Spook flipped a switch. Instantly, the whole spaceship was flooded with the 1963 rock 'n' roll song, "The Martian Hop.” The Spaceship Lula Belle chugged, wheezed and coughed its way across the galaxy with her whole crew dancing to that venerable old song.
At the moment the public was informed that "President Kennedy" had died, the real John F. Kennedy sighed, "I can never go back to Earth. With all the medical advancements you have, could you not have allowed me to get shot and then restore me to health?"
"No, Mr. President," Doctor McKay replied. "The human brain is the most complex object in the known universe. What's more, damaged brain tissue can never be restored. If you had been shot as the Vicarian was shot, and we had managed to keep you alive, you could never have the awareness to serve as President or even to tender your resignation. You—our President—would have no more mental capacity than—“ He paused. Collecting himself, Bonehead continued, “—than a Hollywood actor."
John F. Kennedy trembled at the thought.
* * *
Carlos "Mellow" Marcello was with several of his legitimate business associates when he heard about President Kennedy's supposed death. Remembering the bet he had made with Jimmy the geek, he said to one of his associates, "Tell Jimmy he owes me big!" Conspiracy buffs, taking that remark out of context, claim that remark was evidence that "Mellow" Marcello had ordered the President's murder on behalf of Jimmy Hoffa.
* * *
Seth Kantor, "a respected journalist and member of the Washington press corps," was covering the story that day. According to Kantor, Jack Ruby, an old acquaintance of his, greeted him at Parkland Hospital around 2:00 P.M. the day of the assassination.
Most conspiracy buffs believe that Ruby was there to plant the infamous "magic bullet" on Governor Connoly's stretcher. More likely, he was there to supervise Seth Kantor's efforts to do this. I'm still looking into that possibility.
* * *
The Kennedy entourage quickly located a bronze-tone shipping casket and rushed the Vicarian's body past Parkland's doctors to the Air Force One. Since a Presidential assassination, at that time, was not federal offense, they feared the sheriff would be along to stop them. After all, as the protesting doctors declared, it was a state crime, and the autopsy should be done in Dallas.
If Lyndon Johnson could possibly help it, no one would perform the autopsy until his cohorts could make some changes in the body. Any bullets entering from the front would have to be removed. All entry wounds coming from the direction of the grassy knoll would have to be changed to look like exit wounds.
Once the casket was aboard the Air Force One, it was bolted to the floor.
The ever-faithful Godfrey McHugh, determined never to leave the President's side until the autopsy began, stood vigil beside the coffin. Through a psychological process called confabulation, he completely forgot that he had been separated from the body on two crucial occasions.
Confabulation is a trick of memory that happens to all of us from time to time. Our "memories" may be flawed by versions of that event told by others, by events that had happened before or since, or by wishful thinking. Loyal as a bird dog, Godfrey McHugh needed to remember himself as never having left the President's body; therefore, that's how he remembered it.
Everyone else remembered having left the casket at various times. Unless there was a time when all of the Kennedy entourage left the casket at the same time, the body could not have been removed from the casket for secret alterations.
For that reason, we know beyond any doubt that Godfrey McHugh's "memories" of the event was a trick of confabulation.
The first crucial period, according to David S. Lifton, author of Best Evidence, was between 2:18 and 2:32. At that time, McHugh was in the forward part of the aircraft, and Mrs. Kennedy was in her bedroom aboard the aircraft.
Lyndon Johnson called the two remaining members of the entourage—Kenneth O'Donnell and Larry O'Brien—to his stateroom. For 14 minutes, during which Johnson repeatedly prevented the plane from taking off, the casket was unattended.
The Vicarian's body was placed in a large suitcase and wheeled past Johnson, O'Brien and O'Donnell to the forward galley and out of the plane through the galley door. A waiting helicopter whisked the body away to the Fort Worth Airport to be loaded aboard a jet. Minutes later, Johnson ordered the pilot to head for Washington.
The Air Force One followed a zig-zag route to Washington, which is a standard means of evading possible attack from the ground or from other aircraft. Because of this flight pattern, the Air Force One arrived in Washington much later than the jet carrying the Vicarian's body.
As it turned out, it wasn't necessary to alter the body, because no bullets had struck the Vicarian from any place other than the Dallas School Book Depository. They didn't know that, however, until after they had removed the Vicarian's brain.
After the Air Force One arrived at the U. S. Navy hospital in Bethesda, the conspirators had to go through a shell game to return the Vicarian's body to the casket that was unloaded from the Air Force One.
We have David S. Lifton to thank for ferreting out the details of how this was accomplished. They used a second casket, a decoy ambulance and a whole raft of other subterfuges. The driver of the decoy ambulance, which held the Vicarian's body, had to put the pedal to the metal to lose vehicles that had been assigned to accompany the real ambulance, which contained an empty coffin. In the chase, the real ambulance had to be---well, I won't ruin a perfectly interesting story by getting bogged down in details.
* * *
Lee Harvey Oswald was still subject to Dr. Spruthers's post-hypnotic suggestion that he could escape prosecution by claiming to be from the planet "Pat.” He repeatedly exclaimed, "I didn't kill nobody. I'm just a Patsy."
It didn't save Oswald from further trouble. In fact, the Dallas police officers didn't even let him finish watching his movie.
At seven o'clock on the night of the assassination, Oswald was paraded in front of dozens of newsmen. Jack Ruby, with a suspicious bulge under his coat, stood only a few feet from Oswald. Since he was holding a pad and pencil in his hands, most of those present thought he was a reporter. District Attorney Henry M. Wade introduced his prisoner as "Lee Henry Oswald.”
"Lee Harvey Oswald," Jack Ruby corrected. News reporters scratched the name Henry from their pads and wrote in Harvey.
In the course of the news conference, Wade said that Oswald was a member of the "Free Cuba Committee.” Ruby raised his pencil and corrected, "Fair Play for Cuba Committee.” Some reporters wondered how Ruby could have known that bit of information before it had time to be released to the public. Seeing the look of embarrassment on Wade's face, though, told them that Ruby was right again.
Seeing that Jack Ruby seemed to know more about Oswald and the Kennedy assassination than the District Attorney knew, the reporters then began directing their questions to Jack Ruby. Wade, Oswald and his guard Detective A. M. Eberhardt shrugged their shoulders and left the room. Oswald was heartbroken over the way Jack Ruby had upstaged him on the most important evening of his life. He knew that in two days he would be publicly escorted to a more secure jail. He hoped that Jack Ruby would not ruin that occasion for him, too.
Eberhardt escorted the dejected Oswald back to his cell.
* * *
Aboard the Spaceship Lula Belle, Captain Kook sighed, "Who could possibly have known? Virtually every assassination theory was, in its own way, the correct answer to the question of who killed President Kennedy."
"That's most affirmative, Captain," said Mr. Spook. "Assassination theorists have variously placed the gunman, or gunmen, at the grassy knoll, the school book depository, the Dal-Tex Building and on the street. They were all there. At the same time, since only Oswald's shots struck their target, Oswald was, as some have said, the lone gunman."
"Moreover," added Captain Kook, "there was a massive conspiracy to kill President Kennedy, involving the CIA, the FBI, military-industrial complex, the Mafia, Richard Nixon, Lyndon Johnson, Dr. Joy Spruthers, and even Shari Lewis' hand puppet Lambchops. In the end, they were all superfluous. Since Oswald alone fired the fatal shots, both the conspiracy and the cover-up were completely unnecessary. Other than lending encouragement to Oswald, the conspirators, for all practical purposes, did absolutely nothing to further the plot."
"There are four other assassination theories you haven’t mentioned," Dr. McKay chimed in. "According to one theory, President Kennedy survived his wounds, although he was rendered incapable of serving out his term as President. That's certainly true, since he didn't receive any wounds; and since he must remain here with us, he can no longer serve as President. According to another theory, a body double was killed in his place. One version of that theory is, he was saved by space aliens. Yet another theory suggests that Kennedy, for whatever reason, faked his own death with some help from Elvis Presley."
"Fascinating!" Mr. Spook exclaimed.
"Okay, I've seen enough," said Captain Kook. "Let's get the heck out of Dodge."
"Wait a minute," Kennedy protested. "A massive conspiracy involving key government figures has just removed me from the presidency. Even though I'm not really dead, from what you tell me, this is the most written about, most controversial crime in history. Aren't you going to do something to bring those people to justice?"
The crewmembers on the bridge of the Lula Belle looked surprised that former President Kennedy should ask that question. "No," they all replied.
"No? And why not?"
"We're from the twenty-secondth century," Mr. Spook replied. "Long before we were born, every one of the conspirators had died. If your religion is correct, they will have had already been punished by a Higher Court."
"Then why did you go to all this trouble, going back to the twentieth century to save my life?"
"We didn't," Captain Kook reminded Mr. Kennedy. "We came back here to see Elvis Presley. Saving your life was an afterthought." The former President was hurt by that remark. "Cheer up," Captain Kook smiled. "You'll love the future. We'll even make you an officer in our crew and teach you how to fly this crate. And if you ever get tired of all this, just remember that Elvis Presley promised that you could stay with him at Graceland."
After awhile, Kennedy began to look forward to his new life as an astronaut.
"Okay, gang," said Captain Kook to his crew, "we're not getting any younger. Let's make like Humpty-Dumpty and get crackin’. Mr. Dzau-le, chart a course for Ramma-lamma-ding-dong."
"Aye-aye, Captain," Mr. Dzau-le responded.
"Ensign Jackass, full speed ahead."
"Aye-aye, Captain," Ensign Jackass responded.
"Lieutenant O'Hara, fetch me a cup of coffee."
"Get it yourself, you male, chauvinist pig!"
"Sheesh! How I hate the late twentieth century! Mr. Spook!"
"Yes, Captain?"
"A little traveling music!"
"Aye-aye, Captain!" Mr. Spook flipped a switch. Instantly, the whole spaceship was flooded with the 1963 rock 'n' roll song, "The Martian Hop.” The Spaceship Lula Belle chugged, wheezed and coughed its way across the galaxy with her whole crew dancing to that venerable old song.
Ambush
Captain Kook called down to the engine room, "Snotty, are you ready to transport?"
Snotty replied, "It's all set to go, but I'm not sure it's going to work."
"Okay, Snotty, stand by to transport when I give the word." Blindfolded, a struggling Vicarian sat on one of the transporter pads.
Forty seconds after the Presidential limosine had turned onto Elm Street, Richard Cain got the word over his walkie-talkie, "Station One, fire at will!"
He passed the word to Oswald. Through Oswald's sights, President Kennedy was partially obscured by the branches of a tree.
The instant Captain Kook overheard the order to fire, he cried out, "Snotty, transport!"
"Aye, aye, Captain," replied Snotty, pressing two buttons simultaneously.
In that same instant, Engineer First Class Lewis Smith snatched the blindfold from the Vicarian's eyes. The Vicarian quickly dematerialized. Snotty saw no indication of President Kennedy materializing on the pad next to the disappearing Vicarian.
At ten miles per hour, President Kennedy was a slow-moving target.
Seeing a break in the trees, Oswald squeezed off his first shot.
That was forty-seven seconds after the President's limosine had turned onto Elm Street. The limosine was 143 feet from the sniper's nest. Oswald's first shot deflected off a branch and struck a curb somewhere beyond the President.
Secret Service Agent Bill Greer, President Kennedy's driver, slowed the limousine almost to a stop. He later gave the excuse that it was so he could turn around and see what was wrong. The obvious reason was, of course, to make President Kennedy an easier target.
Governor John Connolly, an experienced hunter, was one of the few people who immediately recognized the sound as gunfire. Most witnesses had thought it was a firecracker going off. Some others thought it was a car backfiring.
Luther Gooch’s mother turned to him and said, "Did you do that?"
Governor Connoly turned in his seat to look behind him.
Some 3.5 seconds after the first shot was fired, Oswald saw another break in the foliage. To save precious seconds, Oswald looked down the open sights of the rifle and squeezed off a second shot.
Oswald's second shot is the most controversial of the shots commonly known to have been fired that day. The sniper's nest was about fifty feet above the street, and President Kennedy's limousine was 165 feet from the sniper's nest. Elm Street declines away from the Texas School Book Depository. Allowing for that decline, the bullet's trajectory was at no more than a ten-degree angle. That's a much lower angle than most people's image of the assassination would have them believe.
A much-relieved President Kennedy materialized on the transporter pad of the Spaceship Lula Belle. "The President is aboard, Captain!" Mr. Snot cried into his intercom.
Captain Kook heaved a sigh of relieve. "Good work, Snotty," he said. "Oswald has just shot the Vicarian and Governor Connolly.
From his vantage point on the bridge, Captain Kook watched the assassination of President Kennedy's double and the shooting of Governor Connolly. Though he knew it was not really President Kennedy, it gave him the same sick feeling of horror that he felt when, as a much younger man, he'd witnessed the murder of an Abraham Lincoln double.
The bullet struck the Vicarian at a speed of over 1,700 feet per second. The shock of the bullet traveling at that speed so close to the spine shattered the tip of the sixth cervical vertebra. This caused a neurological response called "Thorburn's Position.” That is, the Vicarian's hands shot up almost to its throat, and its elbows winged outward. The bullet, now tumbling, exited the Vicarian's throat, nicking its tie. The Vicarian leaned forward, straining against a back brace identical to the one President Kennedy had worn.
Governor Connolly was in the process of turning to look over his right shoulder after having just looked over his right shoulder and not seeing the source of the sound he'd heard 3.5 seconds earlier. The same bullet that had hit the Vicarian now struck Connally in his right shoulder blade, shattered his fifth right rib, deflecting slightly downward, and came out just below his right nipple. The bullet struck his right wrist at a speed of about 900 feet per second, passing through the wrist and deflecting slightly to the left. The pressure of the bullet striking his wrist caused his grip on the Stetson hat in his hand to slightly tighten. The bullet, with its rounded end now facing backward, struck Governor Connolly's left thigh at about 400 feet per second.
In the excitement, even with a punctured lung, Governor Connolly was not yet aware that he had been hit. In the next exhalation of breath after the shooting, his lung collapsed. He found himself unable to inhale. His face turned ashen, and his body collapsed into his the arms of his wife Nellie.
* * *
What became known as "the magic bullet" and "the pristine bullet" and Warren Commission Exhibit 399 was neither magical nor pristine. It was slightly bent and slightly flattened, and it had lost some of its original weight. The average weight of a 6.5mm Carcano bullet is 161.2 grains, and the weight of such a bullet can vary from that average by more than three grains. If the "magic bullet's" original weight had been 164.2 grains, then CE 399 had lost six grains of its original weight.
* * *
Films and photographs of the assassination indicated that most of the Secret Service agents' reactions were extraordinarily slow. A night of cold drinks and hot women provided by Jack Ruby might explain it. The age of some of the agents might also have explained it. Only thing is, Clint Hill had some of the fastest reactions of all the agents, yet he was the second oldest Secret Service Agent with the motorcade, and he was among the few who had partied all night. Some of the younger agents who did not attend the party had some of the slowest reactions.
For all practical purposes, then, Jack Ruby's plan to dull their senses with a sleepless night of liquor and sex was a failure.
* * *
The Presidential limousine was moving farther and farther away from the sniper's nest and closer and closer to the grassy knoll. As far as the conspirators could see, their intended victim had not yet sustained a fatal injury. "All stations, fire at will!" a voice crackled over the walkie-talkies. Richard Cain and Roscoe White relayed the order to Oswald and Lambchops.
About six seconds after the second shot was fired, President Kennedy's car was 111 feet from the grassy knoll. Lambchops' finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle. Ensign Jackass, watching helplessly, heard the rifle's loud report. Amid the smoke bursting from the rifle barrel, Ensign Jackass also saw a flag emblazoned with the word: "BANG!"
Larry, Moe and Curly Joe laughed uproariously at Lambchop's sight gag. Ensign Jackass heaved a sigh of relief and realization. Now he knew why no bullet had been recovered from the grassy knoll shot. He also knew how the grassy knoll shooter could have missed the entire motorcade. Furthermore, it explained how several witnesses, such as railroad supervisor Sam Holland could have seen a puff of smoke coming from the grassy knoll, even though modern rifles are smokeless.
Railroad worker Lee Bowers, Jr., saw the "flash of light or smoke or something" come from Lambchops' gun behind the picket fence. Jean Hill, who was standing across the street from the grassy knoll, was sure she had seen "a gunman or a sheep or something" behind the picket fence. A retired Dallas police officer named Malcolm Summers thought he had heard a shot from behind the picket fence and ran up the knoll to find the shooter. Ed Hoffman witnessed what happened next on the grassy knoll.
As the grassy knoll hit team began escaping from the scene, White and Tippit cursed Lambchops. "How could you be so stupid?" White demanded. "We came here to kill the President, not to make people laugh."
"Well, what did you expect?" Lambchops protested. "I'm a hand puppet. All I know how to do is make people laugh."
White threw the rifle to Tippit, who disassembled it and put it into a brakeman's tool bag. As he stashed the tool bag into the trunk of a waiting car, Tippit shook his head and grumbled, "That's the last time I'm going on a job like this with a hand puppet."
Lambchops, White and Tippit climbed into the car and drove away. Horowitz, Feinstein and Di Rita ran toward the railyards, hoping to hide in an empty boxcar.
* * *
In the sniper's perch, Oswald was 266 feet from the Presidential limousine. A fraction of a second after Lambchop's rifle sounded, Oswald fired his third and final shot.
The bullet struck the Vicarian in the occipital (rear) of the skull, close to the paretal (side) area. For an instant, the Vicarian's head was violently jerked forward, as its head exploded. Its brain no longer responsive to previous impulses, the Vicarian relaxed its Thorburn's Position. Just as suddenly, the Vicarian ceased to strain against the back brace, causing the brace to pull the Vicarian backward and to the left.
Arnold Rowland looked up and saw Lee Harvey Oswald step back from his perch. Someone resembling Oswald is seen in one of the many photographs taken that day and later made available to the public. In another photograph, five year-old Luther Gooch may be seen chasing a stray cat.
* * *
"Great work!" Nicoletti said to Oswald. At that same instant, Captain Kook was congratulating Snotty with the same words. Oswald handed his rifle to Nicoletti, who took it by the sling. Nicoletti said to him, "You hurry on down to the lunch room. We'll get things cleaned up here and take the rifle with us."
The instant Oswald disappeared into the stairwell, Richard Cain laughed, "We did it! Can you believe how gullible he is?" Nicoletti held out his hands, palms facing upward; Cain slapped Nicoletti's palms with his own. Nicoletti then slapped Cain's palms in a similar manner. For a moment, shaking each other's hands, they laughingly danced in a circle.
Still giddy with delight, Nicoletti said, "I'll get the getaway car. You know what you have to do. And don't forget to take off your glasses when you go outside for me to pick you up."
Nicoletti dashed down the stairs to get the Nash Rambler parked near the depository. Cain placed Oswald's Mannlischer-Carcano between two boxes near the exit. That made it look as though Oswald had clumsily tried to hide the rifle on his way out. Then he ran down the stairs and left by the back exit.
A witness saw Cain, who at that distance somewhat resembled Oswald, come out of the depository by the rear exit, hesitate for a few minutes, then dash down the street toward the freeway. Cain was wearing the same white shirt the gunman had been seen wearing minutes earlier. Soon after Cain had been seen exiting the depository, Deputy Sheriff Roger Craig saw Cain climb into Ruth Payne's Nash Rambler station wagon. The car then speeded away.
A minute after the shooting, Dallas Police Officer Marrion Baker entered the depository and met Roy Truly, the man in charge of the depository. Thirty seconds later, they encountered Oswald drinking a Coca Cola on the second floor. To Baker, Oswald appeared to be "calm, collected, not out of breath."
Truly thought that Oswald "didn't seem to be excited or overly afraid or anything." Oswald finished his Coke and left the building by the front entrance.
Immediately outside, Oswald was approached by a man who flashed his identification and asked if there was a telephone he could use. Oswald later said he thought the man was a Secret Service agent. He gave the man directions and continued to his boarding house.
The "Secret Service agent,” as it turned out, was an NBC News reporter named Robert McNeil. He was the same Robert McNeil who would later co-host the McNeil-Lerher News Hour. This author is still investigating Robert McNeil to determine what connection, if any, he had had to the plot to kill President Kennedy.
* * *
Both of the conspirators who had been in the Dal-Tex Building were arrested and taken to the Dallas County Sheriff's Department for questioning. They were soon released with no record of their arrests, interrogation and release. The name of one remained unknown until you read this book. The other was known to be a California businessman named Jim Braden. Seven years later, a producer for NNXT, a Los Angeles-based affiliate of CBS-TV discovered that Braden was Eugene Hale Brading, a courier and liaison man for such Mafiosi as Mayer Lansky and Carlos Marcello. His rap sheet showed thirty-five arrests, with convictions for burglary, bookmaking and embezzlement. Noyes also learned that Brading had spent the night at the Cabana Hotel.
The Cabana Hotel owned by Jimmy Hoffa's Teamsters Union. On top of that, Jack Ruby was known to have visited the Cabana Hotel only a few hours after the assassination.
The Three Stooges were arrested when they were found in an open boxcar behind the grassy knoll, but they were later released. Another man found in the Dal-Tex Building was arrested but soon released. A thirty-one year-old man was also arrested but was re-arrested a week later. No record of their arrests was made. Even more shocking, despite the suspected Cuban and Mafia connection to the assassination, thousands of people with Spanish or Italian surnames known to be in Dallas that day were not even questioned!
Within minutes of the assassination, Dallas police officers J. D. Tippit and Roscoe White were sent to Earlene Roberts's rooming house, where Oswald then lived, to kill Oswald. Oswald had returned to the rooming house for a change of clothing and a pistol.
When Tippit and White confronted Oswald, Tippit hesitated at the crucial moment. This allowed Oswald to fire a few warning shots and escape. For his failure to carry out the mob's orders, Tippit was killed by White.
At that moment, Oswald must have realized that he would soon be killed or arrested. If arrested, he faced either the death penalty or life in prison. Since the Dallas County Jail did not have a theater, Oswald decided that this was probably his last chance to take in a movie.
Snotty replied, "It's all set to go, but I'm not sure it's going to work."
"Okay, Snotty, stand by to transport when I give the word." Blindfolded, a struggling Vicarian sat on one of the transporter pads.
Forty seconds after the Presidential limosine had turned onto Elm Street, Richard Cain got the word over his walkie-talkie, "Station One, fire at will!"
He passed the word to Oswald. Through Oswald's sights, President Kennedy was partially obscured by the branches of a tree.
The instant Captain Kook overheard the order to fire, he cried out, "Snotty, transport!"
"Aye, aye, Captain," replied Snotty, pressing two buttons simultaneously.
In that same instant, Engineer First Class Lewis Smith snatched the blindfold from the Vicarian's eyes. The Vicarian quickly dematerialized. Snotty saw no indication of President Kennedy materializing on the pad next to the disappearing Vicarian.
At ten miles per hour, President Kennedy was a slow-moving target.
Seeing a break in the trees, Oswald squeezed off his first shot.
That was forty-seven seconds after the President's limosine had turned onto Elm Street. The limosine was 143 feet from the sniper's nest. Oswald's first shot deflected off a branch and struck a curb somewhere beyond the President.
Secret Service Agent Bill Greer, President Kennedy's driver, slowed the limousine almost to a stop. He later gave the excuse that it was so he could turn around and see what was wrong. The obvious reason was, of course, to make President Kennedy an easier target.
Governor John Connolly, an experienced hunter, was one of the few people who immediately recognized the sound as gunfire. Most witnesses had thought it was a firecracker going off. Some others thought it was a car backfiring.
Luther Gooch’s mother turned to him and said, "Did you do that?"
Governor Connoly turned in his seat to look behind him.
Some 3.5 seconds after the first shot was fired, Oswald saw another break in the foliage. To save precious seconds, Oswald looked down the open sights of the rifle and squeezed off a second shot.
Oswald's second shot is the most controversial of the shots commonly known to have been fired that day. The sniper's nest was about fifty feet above the street, and President Kennedy's limousine was 165 feet from the sniper's nest. Elm Street declines away from the Texas School Book Depository. Allowing for that decline, the bullet's trajectory was at no more than a ten-degree angle. That's a much lower angle than most people's image of the assassination would have them believe.
A much-relieved President Kennedy materialized on the transporter pad of the Spaceship Lula Belle. "The President is aboard, Captain!" Mr. Snot cried into his intercom.
Captain Kook heaved a sigh of relieve. "Good work, Snotty," he said. "Oswald has just shot the Vicarian and Governor Connolly.
From his vantage point on the bridge, Captain Kook watched the assassination of President Kennedy's double and the shooting of Governor Connolly. Though he knew it was not really President Kennedy, it gave him the same sick feeling of horror that he felt when, as a much younger man, he'd witnessed the murder of an Abraham Lincoln double.
The bullet struck the Vicarian at a speed of over 1,700 feet per second. The shock of the bullet traveling at that speed so close to the spine shattered the tip of the sixth cervical vertebra. This caused a neurological response called "Thorburn's Position.” That is, the Vicarian's hands shot up almost to its throat, and its elbows winged outward. The bullet, now tumbling, exited the Vicarian's throat, nicking its tie. The Vicarian leaned forward, straining against a back brace identical to the one President Kennedy had worn.
Governor Connolly was in the process of turning to look over his right shoulder after having just looked over his right shoulder and not seeing the source of the sound he'd heard 3.5 seconds earlier. The same bullet that had hit the Vicarian now struck Connally in his right shoulder blade, shattered his fifth right rib, deflecting slightly downward, and came out just below his right nipple. The bullet struck his right wrist at a speed of about 900 feet per second, passing through the wrist and deflecting slightly to the left. The pressure of the bullet striking his wrist caused his grip on the Stetson hat in his hand to slightly tighten. The bullet, with its rounded end now facing backward, struck Governor Connolly's left thigh at about 400 feet per second.
In the excitement, even with a punctured lung, Governor Connolly was not yet aware that he had been hit. In the next exhalation of breath after the shooting, his lung collapsed. He found himself unable to inhale. His face turned ashen, and his body collapsed into his the arms of his wife Nellie.
* * *
What became known as "the magic bullet" and "the pristine bullet" and Warren Commission Exhibit 399 was neither magical nor pristine. It was slightly bent and slightly flattened, and it had lost some of its original weight. The average weight of a 6.5mm Carcano bullet is 161.2 grains, and the weight of such a bullet can vary from that average by more than three grains. If the "magic bullet's" original weight had been 164.2 grains, then CE 399 had lost six grains of its original weight.
* * *
Films and photographs of the assassination indicated that most of the Secret Service agents' reactions were extraordinarily slow. A night of cold drinks and hot women provided by Jack Ruby might explain it. The age of some of the agents might also have explained it. Only thing is, Clint Hill had some of the fastest reactions of all the agents, yet he was the second oldest Secret Service Agent with the motorcade, and he was among the few who had partied all night. Some of the younger agents who did not attend the party had some of the slowest reactions.
For all practical purposes, then, Jack Ruby's plan to dull their senses with a sleepless night of liquor and sex was a failure.
* * *
The Presidential limousine was moving farther and farther away from the sniper's nest and closer and closer to the grassy knoll. As far as the conspirators could see, their intended victim had not yet sustained a fatal injury. "All stations, fire at will!" a voice crackled over the walkie-talkies. Richard Cain and Roscoe White relayed the order to Oswald and Lambchops.
About six seconds after the second shot was fired, President Kennedy's car was 111 feet from the grassy knoll. Lambchops' finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle. Ensign Jackass, watching helplessly, heard the rifle's loud report. Amid the smoke bursting from the rifle barrel, Ensign Jackass also saw a flag emblazoned with the word: "BANG!"
Larry, Moe and Curly Joe laughed uproariously at Lambchop's sight gag. Ensign Jackass heaved a sigh of relief and realization. Now he knew why no bullet had been recovered from the grassy knoll shot. He also knew how the grassy knoll shooter could have missed the entire motorcade. Furthermore, it explained how several witnesses, such as railroad supervisor Sam Holland could have seen a puff of smoke coming from the grassy knoll, even though modern rifles are smokeless.
Railroad worker Lee Bowers, Jr., saw the "flash of light or smoke or something" come from Lambchops' gun behind the picket fence. Jean Hill, who was standing across the street from the grassy knoll, was sure she had seen "a gunman or a sheep or something" behind the picket fence. A retired Dallas police officer named Malcolm Summers thought he had heard a shot from behind the picket fence and ran up the knoll to find the shooter. Ed Hoffman witnessed what happened next on the grassy knoll.
As the grassy knoll hit team began escaping from the scene, White and Tippit cursed Lambchops. "How could you be so stupid?" White demanded. "We came here to kill the President, not to make people laugh."
"Well, what did you expect?" Lambchops protested. "I'm a hand puppet. All I know how to do is make people laugh."
White threw the rifle to Tippit, who disassembled it and put it into a brakeman's tool bag. As he stashed the tool bag into the trunk of a waiting car, Tippit shook his head and grumbled, "That's the last time I'm going on a job like this with a hand puppet."
Lambchops, White and Tippit climbed into the car and drove away. Horowitz, Feinstein and Di Rita ran toward the railyards, hoping to hide in an empty boxcar.
* * *
In the sniper's perch, Oswald was 266 feet from the Presidential limousine. A fraction of a second after Lambchop's rifle sounded, Oswald fired his third and final shot.
The bullet struck the Vicarian in the occipital (rear) of the skull, close to the paretal (side) area. For an instant, the Vicarian's head was violently jerked forward, as its head exploded. Its brain no longer responsive to previous impulses, the Vicarian relaxed its Thorburn's Position. Just as suddenly, the Vicarian ceased to strain against the back brace, causing the brace to pull the Vicarian backward and to the left.
Arnold Rowland looked up and saw Lee Harvey Oswald step back from his perch. Someone resembling Oswald is seen in one of the many photographs taken that day and later made available to the public. In another photograph, five year-old Luther Gooch may be seen chasing a stray cat.
* * *
"Great work!" Nicoletti said to Oswald. At that same instant, Captain Kook was congratulating Snotty with the same words. Oswald handed his rifle to Nicoletti, who took it by the sling. Nicoletti said to him, "You hurry on down to the lunch room. We'll get things cleaned up here and take the rifle with us."
The instant Oswald disappeared into the stairwell, Richard Cain laughed, "We did it! Can you believe how gullible he is?" Nicoletti held out his hands, palms facing upward; Cain slapped Nicoletti's palms with his own. Nicoletti then slapped Cain's palms in a similar manner. For a moment, shaking each other's hands, they laughingly danced in a circle.
Still giddy with delight, Nicoletti said, "I'll get the getaway car. You know what you have to do. And don't forget to take off your glasses when you go outside for me to pick you up."
Nicoletti dashed down the stairs to get the Nash Rambler parked near the depository. Cain placed Oswald's Mannlischer-Carcano between two boxes near the exit. That made it look as though Oswald had clumsily tried to hide the rifle on his way out. Then he ran down the stairs and left by the back exit.
A witness saw Cain, who at that distance somewhat resembled Oswald, come out of the depository by the rear exit, hesitate for a few minutes, then dash down the street toward the freeway. Cain was wearing the same white shirt the gunman had been seen wearing minutes earlier. Soon after Cain had been seen exiting the depository, Deputy Sheriff Roger Craig saw Cain climb into Ruth Payne's Nash Rambler station wagon. The car then speeded away.
A minute after the shooting, Dallas Police Officer Marrion Baker entered the depository and met Roy Truly, the man in charge of the depository. Thirty seconds later, they encountered Oswald drinking a Coca Cola on the second floor. To Baker, Oswald appeared to be "calm, collected, not out of breath."
Truly thought that Oswald "didn't seem to be excited or overly afraid or anything." Oswald finished his Coke and left the building by the front entrance.
Immediately outside, Oswald was approached by a man who flashed his identification and asked if there was a telephone he could use. Oswald later said he thought the man was a Secret Service agent. He gave the man directions and continued to his boarding house.
The "Secret Service agent,” as it turned out, was an NBC News reporter named Robert McNeil. He was the same Robert McNeil who would later co-host the McNeil-Lerher News Hour. This author is still investigating Robert McNeil to determine what connection, if any, he had had to the plot to kill President Kennedy.
* * *
Both of the conspirators who had been in the Dal-Tex Building were arrested and taken to the Dallas County Sheriff's Department for questioning. They were soon released with no record of their arrests, interrogation and release. The name of one remained unknown until you read this book. The other was known to be a California businessman named Jim Braden. Seven years later, a producer for NNXT, a Los Angeles-based affiliate of CBS-TV discovered that Braden was Eugene Hale Brading, a courier and liaison man for such Mafiosi as Mayer Lansky and Carlos Marcello. His rap sheet showed thirty-five arrests, with convictions for burglary, bookmaking and embezzlement. Noyes also learned that Brading had spent the night at the Cabana Hotel.
The Cabana Hotel owned by Jimmy Hoffa's Teamsters Union. On top of that, Jack Ruby was known to have visited the Cabana Hotel only a few hours after the assassination.
The Three Stooges were arrested when they were found in an open boxcar behind the grassy knoll, but they were later released. Another man found in the Dal-Tex Building was arrested but soon released. A thirty-one year-old man was also arrested but was re-arrested a week later. No record of their arrests was made. Even more shocking, despite the suspected Cuban and Mafia connection to the assassination, thousands of people with Spanish or Italian surnames known to be in Dallas that day were not even questioned!
Within minutes of the assassination, Dallas police officers J. D. Tippit and Roscoe White were sent to Earlene Roberts's rooming house, where Oswald then lived, to kill Oswald. Oswald had returned to the rooming house for a change of clothing and a pistol.
When Tippit and White confronted Oswald, Tippit hesitated at the crucial moment. This allowed Oswald to fire a few warning shots and escape. For his failure to carry out the mob's orders, Tippit was killed by White.
At that moment, Oswald must have realized that he would soon be killed or arrested. If arrested, he faced either the death penalty or life in prison. Since the Dallas County Jail did not have a theater, Oswald decided that this was probably his last chance to take in a movie.
Countdown
On the morning of November 22, 1963, Dallas was bright and sunny. The mood of the city was described as "festive,” and the people of Dallas were "looking forward to" the President's visit "with keen anticipation."
The dark thoughts of Lee Harvey Oswald stood as much in contrast to the festivity around him as the eye of a storm to the storm itself. As he left his sleeping wife Marina at the Payne house that morning, he dropped his wedding band in a cup on the dresser. In an envelope, he left her the $175 he had withdrawn when he emptied his bank account. No doubt he saw himself starting a new life elsewhere on the money the mob was paying him. He caught a ride with a co-worker to the Dallas School Book Depository.
Around 11:30 that morning, a Dallas housewife named Julia Ann Mercer was driving in a westerly direction along Elm Street, through Dealey Plaza. When she came to the spot almost directly in front of the grassy knoll, a green Ford pickup truck, illegally parked, blocked her lane to the right.
According to her description, the truck bore Texas license plates. As she waited for traffic to clear, allowing her to drive around the truck, she saw "a white male who appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, wearing a gray jacket, brown pants and a plaid shirt," remove what appeared to be a rifle case from the back of the truck. He then carried the rifle case to the crest of the grassy knoll and vanished behind the bushes. Three Dallas police officers stood nearby talking, appearing to take no notice of the suspicious event.
To make the matter even more suspicious, the Dallas Police Department later claimed that "no police officers were assigned along that part of the route."
After Ruby had shot Oswald, Julia Ann Mercer reported to the Dallas Sheriff's Office that "she thought the driver of the pickup truck was Jack Ruby. At the time of the event, though, she had thought the driver of the pickup truck was television personality Ed McMahon. Police Chief Jesse Curry had "called upon every available reserve" to provide security for the motorcade route. They totaled about 700 policemen, Texas Rangers, sheriff's deputies, the state police, the Department of Public Safety, the governor's Bureau of Investigation, and even firemen. He felt his responsibility for security ended at the intersection of Main and Houston, where the crowds could be expected to thin out.
The Presidential motorcade was running about five minutes late. It had been scheduled to arrive at the Trade Mart at 12:30. Instead, at that time, it would arrive at the Dallas School Book Depository.
According to one report, Helen Forrest was standing on Elm Street around noon, "in blazing sunlight.” Then and there, she "saw a man with a rifle"in a second floor window of the Texas School Book Depository. I'm still trying to determine the significance of the "blazing sunlight.” Does that mean she could clearly see the window; or does it mean she was blinded by the sun; or was she "tetched" by the "blazing sunlight"? That's one of the remaining unsolved mysteries of the Kennedy Assassination.
Supposedly to provide Lee Harvey Oswald with an alibi, Oswald was told to eat lunch in the domino room on the first floor. Since the Presidential motorcade was not expected to pass the depository until 12:25, Oswald did not have to return to the sixth floor until almost 12:20. After Oswald began eating his sandwich, he decided that a Coke would go better with it. He then went up to the second-floor lunchroom for a Coke.
Since noon, Arnold Rowland and his wife had been standing across from the Depository waiting for the Presidential motorcade. Around 12:15, he said to his wife, "Would you like to see a Secret Service agent?" He pointed to a the far southwest corner window of the sixth floor of the depository. A few feet back from that window stood a man with a high-powered rifle. Also around 12:15, Carolyn Walter and Ruby Henderson saw two men in the far southeastern corner of the sixth floor of the Depository. That was the window police later identified as the sniper's nest. John Powell, a jailbird looking across Dealey Plaza from his sixth floor cell in the Dallas County Jail, saw two men in the sniper's nest window.
At that moment, Lee Harvey Oswald was sitting in the second-floor lunchroom of the building. He later said that only three people were in the lunchroom at that moment. One was a black man known to his co-workers as Junior. Another was a short black man whose name Oswald didn't know. The third was Oswald himself. Investigation revealed that, indeed, a black man called Junior Jarnan and a short black man named Harold Norman were in the lunchroom at that time. They said that a white man was also in the lunchroom, but they didn't recall who he was.
Carolyn Arnold, the secretary to the vice president of the Dallas School Book Depository, walked into the lunchroom at 12:15 "or a little later" for a drink of water. She saw Oswald sitting in a booth to her right.
Five year-old Luther Gooch was standing near the corner of Elm and Main, picking his nose and intently studying the boogers. He didn't see anything.
Around that same time (one hour earlier Eastern Standard Time) Jerry Mills and his best friend Billy McKay were in a civics class at Timmonsville (S.C.) High School. Their teacher was named George Reeves. Of course, that has nothing to do with "who hit John,” but everyone likes to tell his own recollections of the assassination.
Between 12:25 and 12:28, Arnold Rowland took another look at the depository. Someone he later described as "a black man" leaned out the window of the sniper's nest.
* * *
At 12:28, Captain Kook had more than ample reason to worry about his ability to save President Kennedy's life. Everything seemed to be going wrong.
He called the Chief Engineer Snot on the intercom, "Snotty, we're coming down to the wire. It looks as though we'll have to switch the Vicarian with President Kennedy. Is everything ready in the transporter room?"
"The Vicarian is in place, and we're locked on to the President, but the flamjammer solanoid on the transporter is stuck solid."
"Isn't there something you can do, Snotty?"
"I'll have to reverse the diaflustatic hugag, but it'll take at least two weeks!"
"Snotty!" Captain Kook exclaimed, "We don't have two weeks! We barely have two minutes!"
With his voice rising in frustration, Mr. Snot cried, "I'll see if I can take a few shortcuts."
"Okay, get on it. Kook out."
Lt. O'Hara contacted Ensign Jackass. "Ensign Jackass," Captain Kook barked into the speaker next to O'Hara.
"Yes, Captain," Jackass's voice responded.
"Have you checked the grassy knoll for shooters?"
"No problem-o, Captain. I went up there a few minutes ago and saw two men. They showed me their Secret Service badges and told me that everything was under control."
"Then what did you do?"
"Well, since the Secret Service has everything under control, I decided to go to the nearest cafe for a burger and fries. It's my lunchtime."
"You idiot!" Captain Kook roared. "The Secret Service didn't have any agents assigned to the grassy knoll area!"
"You mean those guys lied to me?"
"Yes, they're imposters! Go zap them before they can shoot the President!" Ensign Jackass quickly paid for his meal and asked for a carry-outbag. With just over a minute to spare, he rushed from the cafe.
Captain Kook then had Lt. O'Hara contact Lt. Dzau-le. "Yes, Captain?" came Mr. Dzau-le's voice.
"Where are you now?"
"I'm on the second floor of the Dal-Tex Building. I've searched almost every room with a window facing the street, but I've not yet located Eugene Brading."
"Captain, look!" Lt. O'Hara exclaimed. O'Hara and Kook looked at the visual scanner screen on the bridge of the Lula Belle. The motorcade was just beginning to make a ninety-degree turn off of Main Street onto Houston Street. The Hertz Rent-a-Car sign on the roof of the Texas School Book Depository gave the time: 12:29. They had less than ninety seconds to stop the assassination.
Lt. O'Hara called up Mr. Spook, now stalled on the first floor of the Dallas School Book Depository.
"Jim, I'm doing my best to get through," he said impatiently, "but the receptionist won't let me past the first floor entrance."
"Spook," Captain Kook pleaded, "we're down to seconds. You must get through. Use your charm." Rosie Cinario, the receptionist, watched in fascination as Mr. Spook carried on his conversation over the futuristic cellular telephone. She was later to report that she had never seen a "walkie talkie" that small or sleek before.
"Oh, why didn't you tell me you were with the Secret Service?" she said. "If you have to search the building, I'm sure it will be all right." Mr. Spook quickly thanked her and rushed toward the freight elevator.
Mr. Dzau-le rushed into yet another second-floor room of the Dal-Tex Building. Two men stood facing the window. They quickly turned, reaching into their coats for their pistols. Before either could fire, Mr. Dzau-le stunned them with his zapper. The men fell backwards, landing unconscious on the floor.
Mr. Dzau-le rushed up to them, turned them over and examined the contents of their wallets. One of the men carried a California driver's license in the name of Jim Braden. Mr. Dzau-le spoke into his communication device, "Captain, I just stunned Jim Braden and an accomplice—“
"Good work, Dzau-le!" Captain Kook interrupted.
"Captain, there's something wrong!"
"What's that?"
"He was carrying a .38 Smith and Wesson Police Special. There's no way a shooter could hit President Kennedy from this distance."
Captain Kook emitted a shocked sigh and clenched his fists. A second later, he placed the forefinger of his left fist against his mouth and said, half to himself, "Of course! He wasn't supposed to kill Kennedy. After Oswald had killed Kennedy, he was supposed to kill Oswald and make it look as though a Dallas policeman had done it. Quick, Dzau-le! Are you able to zap Oswald from your window?"
"No, Captain!"
"No? Why not?"
"There's a slight reflection on the window of the depository. I can see Oswald from here, but the beam from the zapper would reflect off the glass."
Mr. Spook tried to get to the sixth floor of the Dallas School Book Depository by elevator, but he found it was stuck on a floor somewhere above him. Oswald had stopped the elevator at the sixth floor to prevent anyone from interfering with his appointment with history. The Hertz sign on the roof of the depository changed from 12:29 to 12:30. At that moment, the presidential motorcade, having slowed to eleven miles per hour, made an abrupt dogleg turn from Houston Street onto Elm Street.
Mr. Spook was just rushing toward the first-floor stairway with five floors between himself and the sniper's nest. In the sniper's nest, Lee Harvey Oswald cradled his Mannlischer-Carcano to his cheek, waiting for the word to fire. Just behind him, holding a walkie-talkie to his ear, stood Richard Cain, who had previously been employed by the Cook County (Chicago) Sheriff's Department. Chuck Nicoletti, pocket binoculars in hand, stood at the window at the opposite end of the sixth floor storeroom.
In just thirty seconds, Jack Ruby would give the order to fire.
Several hundred miles in space, the crew on the bridge of the Lula Belle watched the tragedy unfold on the scanner screen. It seemed incongruous that, only days earlier, they had been using that same screen to watch San Fernando Red on The Red Skelton Show. Unless, by some miracle, they managed to stop all of the gunmen in less than thirty seconds, they could expect to miss The Bullwinkle Show the following morning.
* * *
Ensign Jackass rushed along the railroad tracks behind the grassy knoll, trying to keep out of sight. Only seconds before the first shot was fired, he came within sight of the shooters. There he saw a team of six men. Because a man with a walkie-talkie stood between Ensign Jackass and the shooter, Jackass could not see the shooter's face. Several stooges stood facing away from the shooter and the man with the walkie-talkie.
Apparently, their job was to prevent last-minute interference with the shooter. Another man stood watching the grassy knoll.
The Lula Belle's computer was later to identify the walkie-talkie man, and the man facing the grassy knoll as Roscoe White and J. D. Tippit. Both White and Tippit were Dallas police officers, and both of them had worked for the Cook County Sheriff's Department. The stooges were identified as Moses Horowitz, Lawrence Finestein, and Joseph DiRita. Horowitz's outfit previously had included his brothers, Jerome and Samuel, as well as Joseph Besser. Because of all the people in his way, Ensign Jackass could not get a look at the shooter, let alone a clear shot. For a few seconds, all he could see was the rifle.
Then, ever so briefly, he saw the shooter's face. The shooter was Shari Lewis' hand puppet, Lambchops. Ensign Jackass was heartbroken to see America's most beloved hand puppet preparing to assassinate the President of the United States.
The Banquet
Researchers have thoroughly documented almost all of Lee Harvey Oswald's movements for the six weeks leading up to the assassination. Almost every hour of his life during this period is accounted for.
Almost. There is one, large block of time for which Oswald's movements and activities remain undiscovered. The entire weekend preceding the assassination remains a mystery to researchers. Where was Oswald during that crucial weekend?
Many assassinologists have come to the conclusion that Oswald spent the weekend at Churchill Farms, Carlos Marcello's country estate, helping to plan the assassination of President Kennedy. That's a perfectly reasonable deduction, worthy of Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote of Sherlock Holmes saying, "Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable—must be the truth." No one knows where else he could have been that weekend, or what he could have been doing; therefore, he must have been at Churchill Farms planning to kill the President.
This author has managed to locate three witnesses to Oswald's activities that weekend. They had even witnessed the final meeting of the conspirators at Churchill Farms. Understandably, they have declined to be quoted "on the record,” out of fear that they may be killed by whoever-it-is who has been going around killing key witnesses to the assassination.
From April 1962 up to the day of the assassination, conspirators telephoned one another or held small, face-to-face meetings or communicated through their couriers, planning each step of the assassination and refining their plans. Saturday, November 16, 1963, began the final meeting of the JFK conspiracy, and it was the largest. At the all-day seminar, the conspirators made sure that each team, indeed, each person knew what he must do the following Friday.
On that day, a large upstairs room which Carlos Marcello used for special occasions became their banquet hall. Four men sat at the rectangular head table. Four or five men sat at each of the ten round tables. Of necessity, they seemed quite a motley bunch. A half-hundred men and women in tuxedos heading for a farm amid the Louisiana swamps would have aroused suspicion among the indigenous population. For that reason, each person wore what he would have been wearing had it been just another day.
As one would expect, those sitting at the head table were the chief conspirators. They were David Ferrie, who had a talent for highly-complex operations. He was the mastermind behind the Kennedy assassination. To his right sat Joseph Civello, the Mafia chief of Dallas. To Ferrie's left sat Sam Giancana, the mob boss of Chicago. He felt that John F. Kennedy owed his 1960 election victory to the Mafia, especially to Giancana himself. Giancana felt betrayed when the new President appointed the Mafia's worst enemy, Robert Kennedy, attorney general. To Civello's left sat Jimmy Hoffa, who had endured a two-year, intensive criminal investigation at the hands of Robert Kennedy. Jack Ruby sat in the center.
The banquet's master of ceremonies, Ed Sullivan, sat at a nearby table with the entertainers. Entertainment for the banquet was provided by the McGuire Sisters.
At another table near the head table sat Vice President Lyndon Johnson, former Vice President Richard Nixon, Dr. Joy Spruthers, and, in a stunning evening dress, FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover. FBI agent James P. Hosty, Jr., sat at another table with former agents Guy Bannister and Robert Maheu, and with Dallas School Book Depository Superintendant Roy Truly. Clad in beige trenchcoats, fedoras and sunglasses, CIA agents Frank Sturgis, E. Howard Hunt, and Maurice Bishop sat with George de Mohrenschild. Mr. de Mohrenschild, a European-born aristocrat and an important informant for the CIA, wore an expensive-looking Italian-made suit.
Nearby, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, Lee Harvey Oswald sat with several anti-Castro operatives. The unshaven operatives, Rogelio (Eugenio) Cisneros, Sergio Arcacha Smith, and Frank Bartes, wore military fatigues, side arms, bandoleers, grenades and small, leafy branches for camouflage. As they ate their meal, they tried to further camouflage themselves with the parsley they'd found on their plates.
At two other tables sat several Mafiosi in expensive silk suits and mirrored sunglasses. At one table sat Eugene Hale Brading (a.k.a. Jim Braden), Lawrence Feinstein, Moses Horowitz, and Joseph di Rita. The latter three were not mobsters; They were just stooges. Richard Cain, John Roselli, Stanley Oliver, Sylvester Corleone, and Chuck Nicoletti sat at the other table reserved for Mafiosi. David Ferrie had placed Jack Ruby in charge of the Dallas assassins. John Roselli acted as a go-between for the Mafia and the CIA. The table reserved mainly for Dallas law enforcement officers was next to the one reserved for Secret Service agents. At the former sat Police Sergeant Patrick Dean and patrolmen Roscoe White and J. D. Tippit, all in their law enforcement uniforms. Marina Oswald's landlady, Ruth Paine, sat with them. At the table next to them sat Dallas Secret Service Chief Forrest Sorrels; Winston Lawson, who was in charge of advance preparations for the Dallas trip; and Bill Greer, who would be driving the Presidential limousine.
Dallas's power elite sat at the next two tables. General Charles Cabell, General Edwin Walker (both generals in full dress uniform), billionaire Nelson Bunker Hunt, and R. L. Thornton, Chairman of the Mercantile National Bank, sat at one table. President Kennedy had fired General Cabell after the botched Bay of Pigs invasion. At the other power elite table sat Citizens Council Chairman J. Eric
Jonsson, Chamber of Commerce President Robert Cullum, Dallas Morning News publisher Ted Dealy, Dallas Times Herald publisher Albert Jackson, and Dallas Mayor Earle Cabell. Mayor Cabell was the brother of General Cabell. Newspaper publishers Dealy and Jackson each wore a green eyeshade, sleeve protectors and had a blue pencil behind his ear.
Before the seminar officially began, Sam Giancana turned to David Ferrie and asked, "What's dis about somebody openin' a umbrella as a signal to da assassins? Evahybody's usin' walkie talkies! Why do we need a signal like a umbrella?"
"Actually," Ferrie replied, "we don't. The umbrella man is my sister's husband Stanley. My sister has been after me to get him a job that he's not likely to foul up. None of the shooters will be paying attention to him, so there's no way to foul it up. At the same time, it'll give him a feeling of accomplishment. He's a no-talent bum who can't keep a steady job, but he's still family. I have to do something to help him."
"Ah, dat's da most bootiful t'ing I evah hoid. Y'know, it's t'ings like fam'ly values dat makes me proud to be a parta dis outfit." Giancana pulled out a handkerchief and brushed away a tear.
Ed Sullivan came to the microphone and began speaking to the crowd of conspirators. "Tonight," he said, "we're going to have a
really big shew"---drawing out the word shew, which was his
pronunciation of the word show—really big." He introduced the
McGuire Sisters and each of the men at the head table. After each
introduction, the conspirators applauded and roared their approval.
Sullivan turned the microphone over to David Ferrie.
David Ferrie smiled at his audience and said, "History is will justify our actions next Friday. When Cassius and Brutus slew Caesar, the masses praised them. In the end, the assassins stood condemned only because Marc Anthony had the last word. We will not make the same mistake they made. We will have the last word."
Most of the crowd looked incredulously at one another, asking, "What in the world is he talking about?"
Sam Giancana stood up and said to Ferrie, "Ain' nobody gonna blame us for croakin' Caesar. He wuz just some made-up movie guy played by Edward G. Robinson. Now, quit talkin' crap! We got us a President to kill."
Ferrie resumed speaking, "Without further ado---"
"An' none a' that sissy French talk, neither!"
Giancana cut in once more. Ferrie tried again, "We're going to go over each person's part in the assassination. It may be useful for each of us to have a general idea of what the others will be doing, but it is vital to make sure each person knows his own role in the assassination and cover-up. I'm sure you all know our resident Macbeth, also known as Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson." Vice President Johnson stood up, and the crowd applauded. “Mr. Vice President, what have you to report?”
“Governor Connally, met with Dallas’s power elite at the Adolphus Hotel," the vice president said. "Some of them are here today. We had wanted President Kennedy to come to Dallas sometime during the summer, but we couldn't arrange it. Still, I wasn't about to give up on the idea.”—emphasizing the word about—“It just gave us more time to prepare.”
"Excuse me," Civello interrupted. "Is Governor Connally part of this little enterprise?"
"He doesn't know he's part of this effort," Johnson smiled, "but he's a conduit for information. Among other things, the task of the Citizens Council was to decide the best place to put the snipers and to suggest a motorcade route as close to the spot as possible. Before and after their meeting with Governor Connally, I discussed the motorcade route and sniper positions with the Citizens Council. In cases like this, it's standard for the Secret Service to meet with the city movers and shakers just before a Presidential visit. That meeting will take place Monday."
Dallas area Secret Service Chief Forrest Sorrels said that he and Winston Lawson would meet with the Citizens Council on Monday, November 18, and go over the motorcade route with Dallas Police Chief Jesse Curry. That would be their final opportunity to make sure everything was still on track. Vice President Johnson will arrive in Dallas on November 19 to deliver a speech to the American Bottlers of Carbonated Beverages. The Secret Service will then meet with Johnson to make certain their arrangements were in keeping with the plans the vice president had made in Washington.
Ferrie asked, "Mr. Sorrels, or Mr. Lawson, I have a question to ask. Considering that only a few Secret Service agents are in on the conspiracy, how can we be sure that our plans are not upset by agents loyal to Kennedy?"
Bill Greer replied, "Secret Service efficiency is considerably outmoded. In the absence of running boards on the motorcade vehicles, the President's key means of defense against a sniper is the driver—that’s me," he smirked. "In the event of an emergency, I'm supposed to sharply cut the steering wheel and give 'er the gas in order to limit the gunman to just one shot. Since I've never been drilled on that procedure, I'll have the perfect excuse for slowing down instead of speeding up. I'll just say I felt I had to see what was going on."
"As for the others," Sorrels added, "Secret Service agents live such busy lives that an agent gets old in a hurry. Most of us put in as much as eighty hours of overtime in a month. That tends to slow down their reflexes. We're supposed to have our reflexes tested regularly. We haven't had reflex tests in so long, some agents, such as Clint Hill, have never even heard of the test. Just the same, I'm going to give the key assignments to the oldest agents and put all the younger ones in an advance assignment or in the follow-up car."
"Who are the oldest?" Civello asked.
"Bill Greer, age 58. Roy Kellerman, sitting beside Greer, is 48; and Clint Hill, age 45, will be the only other agent close enough to react."
Jack Ruby spoke up. "I'll do what I can to further slow their reflexes," he said. "They're invited to an all-night party, at my expense. I'll be providing booze and strippers from the Carousel Club."
Dallas Police Sergeant Patrick Dean pointed out that Frank Wilson, the Secret Service chief under President Franklin D. Roosevelt, had rated the efficiency of the Dallas Police Department as the worst in the nation. Dean gloated, "It hasn't improved."
"Hey, I got a question!" Sylvester Corleone shouted. "This bum here says he's supposed to signal the others by opening an umbrella when Kennedy gets close enough to be shot from the school book depository!"
"Yes, that's right," Ferrie replied, trying to overlook the insult to his brother-in-law.
"Well, if we all have walkie talkies," Corleone continued, "why do we need this bum? Even if we did need an umbrella man, why him? He's so fouled up, he can't even keep a job!" Stanley Oliver, the umbrella man, began to cry. Chuck Nicoletti, standing nearby, shot a questioning glance at Ferrie, who nodded his head. Nicoletti brandished a baseball bat from under his coat. "And another
thing—“ Corleone said, but he didn't get to finish.
Everyone except Sam Giancana flinched at the sickening sight and sound that followed Corleone's last words. Giancana took out his handkerchief and said to David Ferrie, "Wow, da way ya stood up f' ya bruddah-in-law!" Weeping into his handkerchief, Giancana said, "David, I gotta hand it to ya. Ya're all heart." He watched with teary-eyed sentimentality, as a couple of goons dragged Corleone's
body out of the room.
Gesturing toward Oswald, Ed Sullivan said, "And now, the man of the hour: Alex Hidell." Lee Harvey Oswald stood up, and the crowd applauded. It was the proudest moment of his life.
After acknowledging his hosts and other pleasantries, Oswald took the opportunity to thank, once again, his benefactors for paying off his mountain of debts the previous January.
* * *
At a nearby table, Richard Nixon, Lyndon Johnson, J. Edgar Hoover and Dr. Joy Spruthers sat talking. "All this must be costing a fortune!" Dr. Spruthers excitedly whispered.
"I'd estimate about six million dollars," the vice president offered. "Where can they expect to get all that money?" she asked.
"We could raise the money," Nixon said. Lowering his voice, he added, "but it would be wrong."
"Are you having second thoughts?" Dr. Spruthers asked Nixon.
"I'm just trying to look at all sides of this, that's all. When Kennedy won the 1960 election by stealing votes in Chicago, Texas, West Virginia, and South Carolina, and by wiretapping my campaign offices—well, I don't know if I should have him killed for it, or if it would be more mature of me to just follow his example."
"Dick," Dr. Spruthers said, leaning forward a little, "your choice of words tells me you're doing all you can to keep from admitting, even to yourself, that you're confused and angry. It's all right to recognize that you have feelings. When you, for example, slip little notes under your daughter Trish's door telling her you love her, it may seem sweet on the surface; but it shows that you're afraid of your feelings. People who haven't really learned to care for others, or for worthy causes, or for themselves, sometimes use sentimentality or dramatic gestures of commitment as substitutes for love or concern. It was not inconsistent, then, that Hitler cried over the death of his pet goldfish. When genuine love or concern is present, these gestures help to make it more meaningful. Without it, it's only a sign of alienation. Killing the President won't correct your problem. You don't master your feelings by denying them; you can master them only by understanding them."
"Are you saying," asked Hoover, "that he shouldn't help us out in this assassination or the subsequent cover-up?"
"I'm not saying he should, or that he shouldn't. That's a value judgment, and I shouldn't impose my values on any one of you. All I'm saying is, whichever decision you make, it should be for the right reasons."
* * *
Oswald was just wrapping up his presentation. "As soon as I've squeezed off the final shot," he said, "I'll hand the rifle to Richard Cain." Sitting at one of the tables, Cain stood, waved at the others and sat down. "That," Oswald continued, will give me a few extra seconds to get out of there. Walking at a brisk pace, it takes only 40 seconds to go from the sixth floor to the second floor lunchroom. Under normal circumstances, a person slows his steps just a little at the bottom of each flight of stairs in order to turn and go down the next flight. By grabbing the banister rail at the end of each flight, in a kind of slingshot action, I can avoid having to slow down. By doing this, I can cut my time to 30 seconds. That leaves me plenty of time to get to the lunch room and act like I don't know what's going on. About five minutes after the shooting, I'll calmly walk out the front door and get the heck out of Dodge. Chuck, what will you do while I'm doing all that?"
Chuck Nicoletti stood up and said, "I'll quickly disassemble the rifle and return it to its wrapper. Then Richard Cain and I—“ Cain stood, waved and sat down—“hurry down the stairs and leave the same way we came in: the rear exit."
"There's one thing that's been bothering me all this time," said General Edwin Walker.
"Yes, sir, what's that?" Oswald responded.
"No matter how carefully we plan this, even with the assistance of the CIA and the FBI, the American people won't give up until they're satisfied that everyone involved in the assassination is caught. How are you going to prevent that from happening?"
"By seeing to it that the American people are satisfied that everyone involved has been caught," David Ferrie smiled.
"How's that again?"
"We're going to set up some nut to take all the blame, the way they do in Sicily."
Oswald, smirking, looked around the room, wondering which of the degenerate low-lifes sitting before him would be the "nut" Ferrie had in mind.
"What if one of us is caught?" Walker asked.
Jack Ruby replied, "Don't worry about that. Everybody on the Dallas Police force knows me, and they're all my friends. I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I'll see to it that the case never even goes to trial." His audience, including Oswald, applauded.
Oswald had more than the usual reasons for being confident of success. If any clues to the assassination happened to be uncovered, none of them, Oswald thought, would point toward an acknowledged communist. The conspiracy had worked hard to help him build his credentials as a communist, apparently to throw suspicion away from Oswald. He was especially proud of the way he had shot the window frame just in front of General Walker's armchair. The public meekly accepted Walker's word that the general had been sitting in the chair at the time of the shooting.
In September 1963, Roy Truly had turned down Oswald's application for a job at the School Book Depository. He made an abrupt U-turn the same day the Secret Service and the Citizen's Council had decided on the motorcade route. Roy Truly, who'd said he resented President Kennedy's foreign policy and his policy of "race mixing" at home, gave Oswald the job.
These guys, Oswald smirked to himself, really knew their stuff.
Closing Oswald's presentation, David Ferrie said to him, "Screw your courage to the sticking place, and we will not fail."
"Hey-hey! Watch ya language!" Sam Giancana exclaimed. "Dere's ladies present."
Ed Sullivan introduced Vice President Lyndon Johnson, who came to the head table to speak.
Vice President Johnson explained how the President's body would be hustled past officials at Parkland Hospital, secretly removed from its coffin aboard the Air Force One and speeded to a morgue in Washington to remove any indications of bullets coming from any place other than the Dallas School Book Depository. Then it would be secretly returned to its original coffin for an autopsy in Washington.
"With all that moving around," Hoover asked, "wouldn't that look suspicious to people who are not involved?"
"No," Johnson replied. "In times of emergency, people tend not to associate anomalies with the overall picture. They may think that this or that detail they may have witnessed was incorrectly reported, but they won't infer from that that the entire event was incorrectly reported. As for the surgeon performing the autopsy,
I'll see to it that the autopsy will be performed by someone who has never had any experience with gunshot wounds. Even if he's competent enough to sense that something is wrong, his many years of experience will make him vulnerable to pressure. He won't want to jeopardize his career or all the years he's invested toward his retirement. If he doesn't have a lot of years invested toward retirement, he'll be inexperienced enough not to trust his own judgment against pressure from the White House. Either way, we'll get the autopsy we need." The audience applauded. Johnson bowed and returned to his seat.
David Ferrie remarked that, when a President dies, he becomes a part of history; when a popular President, such as the Roosevelts, dies, he becomes geography as well; when a great President, such as Lincoln or Washington, dies, he also becomes literature. Ferrie wondered aloud what Kennedy would become. Sam Giancana told him to "act like ya got some sense."
Many other details were handled that day.
As the seminar was breaking up, Jimmy Hoffa turned to Joseph Civello and said, "Y'know, I sometimes get weary of all this and want to go legit."
"So, what do you propose to do about it?" Civello asked.
"I plan to become an entrepreneur someday---a businessman."
"What kind of business?"
"Construction. Maybe not soon, but someday."
"You're going to build houses?"
"No, maybe I'll provide the materials. When the real estate market really picks up, as economists expect it to do, that's when I plan to make my move." "You plan to be in lumber?"
"No, cement. Can you picture that?"
"Yeah! That sounds right for you. I think you'll be even more famous in cement than you are today."
Almost. There is one, large block of time for which Oswald's movements and activities remain undiscovered. The entire weekend preceding the assassination remains a mystery to researchers. Where was Oswald during that crucial weekend?
Many assassinologists have come to the conclusion that Oswald spent the weekend at Churchill Farms, Carlos Marcello's country estate, helping to plan the assassination of President Kennedy. That's a perfectly reasonable deduction, worthy of Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote of Sherlock Holmes saying, "Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable—must be the truth." No one knows where else he could have been that weekend, or what he could have been doing; therefore, he must have been at Churchill Farms planning to kill the President.
This author has managed to locate three witnesses to Oswald's activities that weekend. They had even witnessed the final meeting of the conspirators at Churchill Farms. Understandably, they have declined to be quoted "on the record,” out of fear that they may be killed by whoever-it-is who has been going around killing key witnesses to the assassination.
From April 1962 up to the day of the assassination, conspirators telephoned one another or held small, face-to-face meetings or communicated through their couriers, planning each step of the assassination and refining their plans. Saturday, November 16, 1963, began the final meeting of the JFK conspiracy, and it was the largest. At the all-day seminar, the conspirators made sure that each team, indeed, each person knew what he must do the following Friday.
On that day, a large upstairs room which Carlos Marcello used for special occasions became their banquet hall. Four men sat at the rectangular head table. Four or five men sat at each of the ten round tables. Of necessity, they seemed quite a motley bunch. A half-hundred men and women in tuxedos heading for a farm amid the Louisiana swamps would have aroused suspicion among the indigenous population. For that reason, each person wore what he would have been wearing had it been just another day.
As one would expect, those sitting at the head table were the chief conspirators. They were David Ferrie, who had a talent for highly-complex operations. He was the mastermind behind the Kennedy assassination. To his right sat Joseph Civello, the Mafia chief of Dallas. To Ferrie's left sat Sam Giancana, the mob boss of Chicago. He felt that John F. Kennedy owed his 1960 election victory to the Mafia, especially to Giancana himself. Giancana felt betrayed when the new President appointed the Mafia's worst enemy, Robert Kennedy, attorney general. To Civello's left sat Jimmy Hoffa, who had endured a two-year, intensive criminal investigation at the hands of Robert Kennedy. Jack Ruby sat in the center.
The banquet's master of ceremonies, Ed Sullivan, sat at a nearby table with the entertainers. Entertainment for the banquet was provided by the McGuire Sisters.
At another table near the head table sat Vice President Lyndon Johnson, former Vice President Richard Nixon, Dr. Joy Spruthers, and, in a stunning evening dress, FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover. FBI agent James P. Hosty, Jr., sat at another table with former agents Guy Bannister and Robert Maheu, and with Dallas School Book Depository Superintendant Roy Truly. Clad in beige trenchcoats, fedoras and sunglasses, CIA agents Frank Sturgis, E. Howard Hunt, and Maurice Bishop sat with George de Mohrenschild. Mr. de Mohrenschild, a European-born aristocrat and an important informant for the CIA, wore an expensive-looking Italian-made suit.
Nearby, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, Lee Harvey Oswald sat with several anti-Castro operatives. The unshaven operatives, Rogelio (Eugenio) Cisneros, Sergio Arcacha Smith, and Frank Bartes, wore military fatigues, side arms, bandoleers, grenades and small, leafy branches for camouflage. As they ate their meal, they tried to further camouflage themselves with the parsley they'd found on their plates.
At two other tables sat several Mafiosi in expensive silk suits and mirrored sunglasses. At one table sat Eugene Hale Brading (a.k.a. Jim Braden), Lawrence Feinstein, Moses Horowitz, and Joseph di Rita. The latter three were not mobsters; They were just stooges. Richard Cain, John Roselli, Stanley Oliver, Sylvester Corleone, and Chuck Nicoletti sat at the other table reserved for Mafiosi. David Ferrie had placed Jack Ruby in charge of the Dallas assassins. John Roselli acted as a go-between for the Mafia and the CIA. The table reserved mainly for Dallas law enforcement officers was next to the one reserved for Secret Service agents. At the former sat Police Sergeant Patrick Dean and patrolmen Roscoe White and J. D. Tippit, all in their law enforcement uniforms. Marina Oswald's landlady, Ruth Paine, sat with them. At the table next to them sat Dallas Secret Service Chief Forrest Sorrels; Winston Lawson, who was in charge of advance preparations for the Dallas trip; and Bill Greer, who would be driving the Presidential limousine.
Dallas's power elite sat at the next two tables. General Charles Cabell, General Edwin Walker (both generals in full dress uniform), billionaire Nelson Bunker Hunt, and R. L. Thornton, Chairman of the Mercantile National Bank, sat at one table. President Kennedy had fired General Cabell after the botched Bay of Pigs invasion. At the other power elite table sat Citizens Council Chairman J. Eric
Jonsson, Chamber of Commerce President Robert Cullum, Dallas Morning News publisher Ted Dealy, Dallas Times Herald publisher Albert Jackson, and Dallas Mayor Earle Cabell. Mayor Cabell was the brother of General Cabell. Newspaper publishers Dealy and Jackson each wore a green eyeshade, sleeve protectors and had a blue pencil behind his ear.
Before the seminar officially began, Sam Giancana turned to David Ferrie and asked, "What's dis about somebody openin' a umbrella as a signal to da assassins? Evahybody's usin' walkie talkies! Why do we need a signal like a umbrella?"
"Actually," Ferrie replied, "we don't. The umbrella man is my sister's husband Stanley. My sister has been after me to get him a job that he's not likely to foul up. None of the shooters will be paying attention to him, so there's no way to foul it up. At the same time, it'll give him a feeling of accomplishment. He's a no-talent bum who can't keep a steady job, but he's still family. I have to do something to help him."
"Ah, dat's da most bootiful t'ing I evah hoid. Y'know, it's t'ings like fam'ly values dat makes me proud to be a parta dis outfit." Giancana pulled out a handkerchief and brushed away a tear.
Ed Sullivan came to the microphone and began speaking to the crowd of conspirators. "Tonight," he said, "we're going to have a
really big shew"---drawing out the word shew, which was his
pronunciation of the word show—really big." He introduced the
McGuire Sisters and each of the men at the head table. After each
introduction, the conspirators applauded and roared their approval.
Sullivan turned the microphone over to David Ferrie.
David Ferrie smiled at his audience and said, "History is will justify our actions next Friday. When Cassius and Brutus slew Caesar, the masses praised them. In the end, the assassins stood condemned only because Marc Anthony had the last word. We will not make the same mistake they made. We will have the last word."
Most of the crowd looked incredulously at one another, asking, "What in the world is he talking about?"
Sam Giancana stood up and said to Ferrie, "Ain' nobody gonna blame us for croakin' Caesar. He wuz just some made-up movie guy played by Edward G. Robinson. Now, quit talkin' crap! We got us a President to kill."
Ferrie resumed speaking, "Without further ado---"
"An' none a' that sissy French talk, neither!"
Giancana cut in once more. Ferrie tried again, "We're going to go over each person's part in the assassination. It may be useful for each of us to have a general idea of what the others will be doing, but it is vital to make sure each person knows his own role in the assassination and cover-up. I'm sure you all know our resident Macbeth, also known as Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson." Vice President Johnson stood up, and the crowd applauded. “Mr. Vice President, what have you to report?”
“Governor Connally, met with Dallas’s power elite at the Adolphus Hotel," the vice president said. "Some of them are here today. We had wanted President Kennedy to come to Dallas sometime during the summer, but we couldn't arrange it. Still, I wasn't about to give up on the idea.”—emphasizing the word about—“It just gave us more time to prepare.”
"Excuse me," Civello interrupted. "Is Governor Connally part of this little enterprise?"
"He doesn't know he's part of this effort," Johnson smiled, "but he's a conduit for information. Among other things, the task of the Citizens Council was to decide the best place to put the snipers and to suggest a motorcade route as close to the spot as possible. Before and after their meeting with Governor Connally, I discussed the motorcade route and sniper positions with the Citizens Council. In cases like this, it's standard for the Secret Service to meet with the city movers and shakers just before a Presidential visit. That meeting will take place Monday."
Dallas area Secret Service Chief Forrest Sorrels said that he and Winston Lawson would meet with the Citizens Council on Monday, November 18, and go over the motorcade route with Dallas Police Chief Jesse Curry. That would be their final opportunity to make sure everything was still on track. Vice President Johnson will arrive in Dallas on November 19 to deliver a speech to the American Bottlers of Carbonated Beverages. The Secret Service will then meet with Johnson to make certain their arrangements were in keeping with the plans the vice president had made in Washington.
Ferrie asked, "Mr. Sorrels, or Mr. Lawson, I have a question to ask. Considering that only a few Secret Service agents are in on the conspiracy, how can we be sure that our plans are not upset by agents loyal to Kennedy?"
Bill Greer replied, "Secret Service efficiency is considerably outmoded. In the absence of running boards on the motorcade vehicles, the President's key means of defense against a sniper is the driver—that’s me," he smirked. "In the event of an emergency, I'm supposed to sharply cut the steering wheel and give 'er the gas in order to limit the gunman to just one shot. Since I've never been drilled on that procedure, I'll have the perfect excuse for slowing down instead of speeding up. I'll just say I felt I had to see what was going on."
"As for the others," Sorrels added, "Secret Service agents live such busy lives that an agent gets old in a hurry. Most of us put in as much as eighty hours of overtime in a month. That tends to slow down their reflexes. We're supposed to have our reflexes tested regularly. We haven't had reflex tests in so long, some agents, such as Clint Hill, have never even heard of the test. Just the same, I'm going to give the key assignments to the oldest agents and put all the younger ones in an advance assignment or in the follow-up car."
"Who are the oldest?" Civello asked.
"Bill Greer, age 58. Roy Kellerman, sitting beside Greer, is 48; and Clint Hill, age 45, will be the only other agent close enough to react."
Jack Ruby spoke up. "I'll do what I can to further slow their reflexes," he said. "They're invited to an all-night party, at my expense. I'll be providing booze and strippers from the Carousel Club."
Dallas Police Sergeant Patrick Dean pointed out that Frank Wilson, the Secret Service chief under President Franklin D. Roosevelt, had rated the efficiency of the Dallas Police Department as the worst in the nation. Dean gloated, "It hasn't improved."
"Hey, I got a question!" Sylvester Corleone shouted. "This bum here says he's supposed to signal the others by opening an umbrella when Kennedy gets close enough to be shot from the school book depository!"
"Yes, that's right," Ferrie replied, trying to overlook the insult to his brother-in-law.
"Well, if we all have walkie talkies," Corleone continued, "why do we need this bum? Even if we did need an umbrella man, why him? He's so fouled up, he can't even keep a job!" Stanley Oliver, the umbrella man, began to cry. Chuck Nicoletti, standing nearby, shot a questioning glance at Ferrie, who nodded his head. Nicoletti brandished a baseball bat from under his coat. "And another
thing—“ Corleone said, but he didn't get to finish.
Everyone except Sam Giancana flinched at the sickening sight and sound that followed Corleone's last words. Giancana took out his handkerchief and said to David Ferrie, "Wow, da way ya stood up f' ya bruddah-in-law!" Weeping into his handkerchief, Giancana said, "David, I gotta hand it to ya. Ya're all heart." He watched with teary-eyed sentimentality, as a couple of goons dragged Corleone's
body out of the room.
Gesturing toward Oswald, Ed Sullivan said, "And now, the man of the hour: Alex Hidell." Lee Harvey Oswald stood up, and the crowd applauded. It was the proudest moment of his life.
After acknowledging his hosts and other pleasantries, Oswald took the opportunity to thank, once again, his benefactors for paying off his mountain of debts the previous January.
* * *
At a nearby table, Richard Nixon, Lyndon Johnson, J. Edgar Hoover and Dr. Joy Spruthers sat talking. "All this must be costing a fortune!" Dr. Spruthers excitedly whispered.
"I'd estimate about six million dollars," the vice president offered. "Where can they expect to get all that money?" she asked.
"We could raise the money," Nixon said. Lowering his voice, he added, "but it would be wrong."
"Are you having second thoughts?" Dr. Spruthers asked Nixon.
"I'm just trying to look at all sides of this, that's all. When Kennedy won the 1960 election by stealing votes in Chicago, Texas, West Virginia, and South Carolina, and by wiretapping my campaign offices—well, I don't know if I should have him killed for it, or if it would be more mature of me to just follow his example."
"Dick," Dr. Spruthers said, leaning forward a little, "your choice of words tells me you're doing all you can to keep from admitting, even to yourself, that you're confused and angry. It's all right to recognize that you have feelings. When you, for example, slip little notes under your daughter Trish's door telling her you love her, it may seem sweet on the surface; but it shows that you're afraid of your feelings. People who haven't really learned to care for others, or for worthy causes, or for themselves, sometimes use sentimentality or dramatic gestures of commitment as substitutes for love or concern. It was not inconsistent, then, that Hitler cried over the death of his pet goldfish. When genuine love or concern is present, these gestures help to make it more meaningful. Without it, it's only a sign of alienation. Killing the President won't correct your problem. You don't master your feelings by denying them; you can master them only by understanding them."
"Are you saying," asked Hoover, "that he shouldn't help us out in this assassination or the subsequent cover-up?"
"I'm not saying he should, or that he shouldn't. That's a value judgment, and I shouldn't impose my values on any one of you. All I'm saying is, whichever decision you make, it should be for the right reasons."
* * *
Oswald was just wrapping up his presentation. "As soon as I've squeezed off the final shot," he said, "I'll hand the rifle to Richard Cain." Sitting at one of the tables, Cain stood, waved at the others and sat down. "That," Oswald continued, will give me a few extra seconds to get out of there. Walking at a brisk pace, it takes only 40 seconds to go from the sixth floor to the second floor lunchroom. Under normal circumstances, a person slows his steps just a little at the bottom of each flight of stairs in order to turn and go down the next flight. By grabbing the banister rail at the end of each flight, in a kind of slingshot action, I can avoid having to slow down. By doing this, I can cut my time to 30 seconds. That leaves me plenty of time to get to the lunch room and act like I don't know what's going on. About five minutes after the shooting, I'll calmly walk out the front door and get the heck out of Dodge. Chuck, what will you do while I'm doing all that?"
Chuck Nicoletti stood up and said, "I'll quickly disassemble the rifle and return it to its wrapper. Then Richard Cain and I—“ Cain stood, waved and sat down—“hurry down the stairs and leave the same way we came in: the rear exit."
"There's one thing that's been bothering me all this time," said General Edwin Walker.
"Yes, sir, what's that?" Oswald responded.
"No matter how carefully we plan this, even with the assistance of the CIA and the FBI, the American people won't give up until they're satisfied that everyone involved in the assassination is caught. How are you going to prevent that from happening?"
"By seeing to it that the American people are satisfied that everyone involved has been caught," David Ferrie smiled.
"How's that again?"
"We're going to set up some nut to take all the blame, the way they do in Sicily."
Oswald, smirking, looked around the room, wondering which of the degenerate low-lifes sitting before him would be the "nut" Ferrie had in mind.
"What if one of us is caught?" Walker asked.
Jack Ruby replied, "Don't worry about that. Everybody on the Dallas Police force knows me, and they're all my friends. I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I'll see to it that the case never even goes to trial." His audience, including Oswald, applauded.
Oswald had more than the usual reasons for being confident of success. If any clues to the assassination happened to be uncovered, none of them, Oswald thought, would point toward an acknowledged communist. The conspiracy had worked hard to help him build his credentials as a communist, apparently to throw suspicion away from Oswald. He was especially proud of the way he had shot the window frame just in front of General Walker's armchair. The public meekly accepted Walker's word that the general had been sitting in the chair at the time of the shooting.
In September 1963, Roy Truly had turned down Oswald's application for a job at the School Book Depository. He made an abrupt U-turn the same day the Secret Service and the Citizen's Council had decided on the motorcade route. Roy Truly, who'd said he resented President Kennedy's foreign policy and his policy of "race mixing" at home, gave Oswald the job.
These guys, Oswald smirked to himself, really knew their stuff.
Closing Oswald's presentation, David Ferrie said to him, "Screw your courage to the sticking place, and we will not fail."
"Hey-hey! Watch ya language!" Sam Giancana exclaimed. "Dere's ladies present."
Ed Sullivan introduced Vice President Lyndon Johnson, who came to the head table to speak.
Vice President Johnson explained how the President's body would be hustled past officials at Parkland Hospital, secretly removed from its coffin aboard the Air Force One and speeded to a morgue in Washington to remove any indications of bullets coming from any place other than the Dallas School Book Depository. Then it would be secretly returned to its original coffin for an autopsy in Washington.
"With all that moving around," Hoover asked, "wouldn't that look suspicious to people who are not involved?"
"No," Johnson replied. "In times of emergency, people tend not to associate anomalies with the overall picture. They may think that this or that detail they may have witnessed was incorrectly reported, but they won't infer from that that the entire event was incorrectly reported. As for the surgeon performing the autopsy,
I'll see to it that the autopsy will be performed by someone who has never had any experience with gunshot wounds. Even if he's competent enough to sense that something is wrong, his many years of experience will make him vulnerable to pressure. He won't want to jeopardize his career or all the years he's invested toward his retirement. If he doesn't have a lot of years invested toward retirement, he'll be inexperienced enough not to trust his own judgment against pressure from the White House. Either way, we'll get the autopsy we need." The audience applauded. Johnson bowed and returned to his seat.
David Ferrie remarked that, when a President dies, he becomes a part of history; when a popular President, such as the Roosevelts, dies, he becomes geography as well; when a great President, such as Lincoln or Washington, dies, he also becomes literature. Ferrie wondered aloud what Kennedy would become. Sam Giancana told him to "act like ya got some sense."
Many other details were handled that day.
As the seminar was breaking up, Jimmy Hoffa turned to Joseph Civello and said, "Y'know, I sometimes get weary of all this and want to go legit."
"So, what do you propose to do about it?" Civello asked.
"I plan to become an entrepreneur someday---a businessman."
"What kind of business?"
"Construction. Maybe not soon, but someday."
"You're going to build houses?"
"No, maybe I'll provide the materials. When the real estate market really picks up, as economists expect it to do, that's when I plan to make my move." "You plan to be in lumber?"
"No, cement. Can you picture that?"
"Yeah! That sounds right for you. I think you'll be even more famous in cement than you are today."
Doctor's Appointment
Nurse Chaplin scheduled President Kennedy's appointment for the following Sunday evening. President Kennedy was understandably nervous about being transported via a matter/energy conversion system. He was even more nervous once Commander Snot explained how it worked. Nonetheless, the Spaceship Lula Belle, obviously, was not going to land on the White House lawn or any other place nearby; nor could Dr. McKay transport the Lula Belle's medical facilities to Earth. President Kennedy was, however, so eager to see the scientific descendent of the program he had brought into being that his hopes overcame his fears.
He spoke into the cellular telephone, "I'm ready to beam up, Snotty." In the next second, every molecule in President Kennedy's body was transformed into energy and sent heavenward. As he was being re-materialized, President Kennedy found himself in a large cubicle that, though its color was white, resembled a large oven. He was standing on one of several pads that looked like the eyes of a stove.
He couldn't help wondering if the matter/energy conversion transporter was also used for cooking.
As expected, Captain Kook, Commander Snot and Doctor McKay met
President Kennedy in the transporting room when the President arrived. "Good evening, Mr. President," said Captain Kook. "I trust you had a pleasant trip?"
"The departure and arrival were a little startling," President Kennedy replied, "but I was scarcely aware of the trip itself. Before I go to sick bay for my physical, would you show me the engine room and try to explain to me how it works?"
Commander Snot did his best to explain the matter/anti-matter means of propulsion. He said that each thing in the material universe has its opposite, and a particle of anti-matter is just as substantial as a particle of matter. Whenever matter and anti-matter meet, they neutralize one another. This results in a release of energy that is powerful enough to propel a spaceship. This process also warps space to a degree that (remember that, according to Einstein's theory, space is curved anyway) the spaceship may be propelled up to nine times the speed of light.
President Kennedy listened intently, but it was clear he was having trouble understanding this application of physical theory. Snotty took another approach. "Matter and anti-matter," he said, "is a little like two of your television personalities, Ralph and Alice Cramden. Ralph earns money and put it in the bank. Alice writes checks, taking it out of the bank. Each time one of her checks for a certain amount comes in contact with Ralph's bank account, it neutralizes an equal amount of his income. The more Alice does it, the more energy it generates between her and Ralph. As Ralph Cramden has pointed out, that energy, if harnessed, would be sufficient to send someone to the moon."
To President Kennedy, that sounded like bad physics and worse television. President Kennedy smiled, "I hope Dr. McKay's medical prowess is better than your physics. I'd better head for sick bay before your explanation starts to make sense to me."
Commander Snot excused himself, pleading that he had to take care of important business on the bridge. Captain Kook, Dr. McKay and President Kennedy left the engineering room for sick bay.
Along the way, President Kennedy saw what seemed like quite a number of elderly people—mostly women—walking the passageways. "This looks like an interstellar veteran’s hospital," he remarked. "Is it?"
"No, Mr. President," replied Captain Kook. "They're the crew. Thirty years in space has really taken its toll. When we first began the mission, we expected it to last only five years. We brought many women and some ethnic minorities aboard. To make ourselves feel noble, we gave some of them positions of responsibility. We were still racist, male chauvinist pigs, though. Very few of them were given any discernable responsibilities. We made all the women wear mini-skirts and Nancy Sinatra boots. After all, during five years in space, what would you expect us to do in our spare time? Wait for shore leave and seek out strange, new life? No way!"
"You mean," asked President Kennedy, "that most of them have nothing essential to do aboard the Lula Belle?"
"That's about it. They can't do a thing, but it sure is fun watching them do it. It was my idea. The previous captain, Christopher Spike, got along just fine with a compliment of 203. It was boring. After he got messed up on some gosh forsaken planet and had to be confined to what looked like a big radio on wheels, I took over as captain. I brought 203 women aboard for eye candy and two dozen ethnic minorities just to make me feel noble."
"So, you increased the ship's compliment from 203 to 430?"
"Yep. We have had as many as 433. As selfish as it was, it turned out to be a smart move. After thirty years, most of the ship's operations have been taken over by the children of the original crew. Some of us old timers refuse to step aside, though. We had to convert one of the recreation rooms into a day care center for our grandchildren, and some of the crew's quarters have been converted into a nursing home."
"You started out with 430 men and women, and then added children and grandchildren. How many do you have aboard now?"
"We still have 430. The casualty rate is pretty high on this ship. Every time we go down to an unfamiliar planet, some more people get killed. We soon learned to bring along some crewmembers to act as cannon fodder. They get killed, and we miraculously survive. Sometimes Bonehhead gets hoarse from saying, `He's dead, Jim,' all the time. Ah, here we are at sick bay! I'll leave you with Bonehead, while I take care of something urgent on the bridge."
Bonehead led President Kennedy to a bed-like table. At the head of the table, President Kennedy saw what looked like a late-twentieth century mechanic's tune-up equipment. "Will you lie down, please?" Bonehead said in his best bedside manner.
With Nurse Chaplin looking on, Bonehead turned on the physical scanner and read the results. "That's incredible!" he exclaimed. "It's a wonder you're even alive!"
"What's wrong?" President Kennedy cried.
"Your pulse is supposed to be 242, but it's only 65. And your body temperature---it's--it's a wonder you don't pass out! It's 98.6 degrees."
"Isn't that normal?"
"Oh, yes, I forgot. My most recent patient was that devil-eared character, and I'd forgotten to readjust the setting. Yeah, other than Hodgkin's disease, your health is fine. Drop your pants, so Nurse Chaplin can give you a shot. That should cure your Hodgkin's disease in a matter of weeks."
President Kennedy winced, "I appreciate that you have a cure for my ailment, but, in three centuries, you still haven't found a less painful way to administer treatment?"
"Well, maybe, Mr. President, but Nurse Chaplin has been telling me you have sexy buns. She'd like a closer look." President Kennedy scowled at Doctor McKay. "On second thought," Doctor McKay smiled sheepishly, "why spoil a good imagination? Imagining what your buns look like should please her more than the reality. Roll up your sleeve." He turned to his disappointed nurse and said, "Okay, Nurse Chaplin, pop him one."
Nurse Chaplin popped him one with the vaccination gun, and shuffled over to a nearby counter. "Well, Mr. President," Doctor McKay said cheerfully, "That's it for now. I'd like to give you another checkup in a week or so. While you're here, would you like to see the bridge?"
"I'm sure you're talking about the ship's bridge, and not the Key Bridge in Washington," said President Kennedy.
"Of course—as soon as you've made an appointment with Nurse Chaplin." He made an appointment for the Monday morning about a week thence. Doctor McKay led President Kennedy to the bridge. Nurse Chaplin remained to return the vaccination capsules to the medicine cabinet and tidy up a bit.
* * *
When President Kennedy and Bonehead arrived on the bridge, they saw Ensign Jackass, Lieutenants O'Hara and Dzau-le, Captain Kook, Commanders Spook and Snot, and most of their children and grandchildren crowded in front of the ship's visual scanner screen. Upon glancing at the screen, President Kennedy immediately recognized Ray Walston and Bill Bixby in the popular television series, My Favorite Martian. "That Ray Walston really cracks me up!" one of the oldest officers laughed.
Captain Kook introduced President Kennedy to all of them, adding that his communications officer, Lt. O'Hara, was also his wife. Their romance, Captain Kook said, had begun some years earlier, on a planet populated by people who had telekinesis. The ruler of the planet used his telekinetic power to force Captain Kook and Lieutenant O'Hara to kiss one another. "It got became habit-forming," Captain Kook remarked. Sometime later, Dr. Janice Lister, a former sweetheart, tried to pressure Kook into "doing the honorable thing" by marrying Lister. To Kook, marrying Lt. O'Hara seemed like an expedient means of escaping Dr. Lister's clutches.
During Captain Kook's ramblings, President Kennedy noticed that Mr. Spook was the only person on the bridge who appeared to be working. Mr. Spook, instead of watching My Favorite Martian, peered into a much smaller screen on one of the consoles. His eyes were illuminated by a pale, blue light coming from the screen. Captain Kook said to President Kennedy, "Mr. Spook spends a great deal of his time looking into that thing. Sometimes it's essential. Sometimes he does it just for fun."
"What is it?" Kennedy asked.
"It's a scanner that also analyzes the things he sees. I understand that you have spy satellites capable of reading a newspaper headline from outer space."
"That's somewhat true. The photographs have to be enlarged and enhanced in other ways, but, if the picture is taken during the day, we can read a headline or identify a matchbox."
"On the Lula Belle," Captain Kook explained, "our onboard computer does all the enhancing we need, day or night, without having to take a picture. Day or night, we can even read a newspaper over someone's shoulder." President Kennedy emitted a low whistle. Captain Kook continued, "The computer even locks on the scanner screen to the item being examined, so we can read the newspaper, even
if the man moves. If he turns the page, the scanner automatically locks onto the next page.
Yesterday, I caught Mr. Spook laughing at the scanner. As it turned out, he was reading MAD magazine."
"Whether it's a clear day or night?" President Kennedy asked Mr. Spook.
"That's right," Spook replied. "Even the dimmest rays of light are magnified up to ten thousand times. It's as if it were daylight."
"Does it work that well in all kinds of weather?" Kennedy asked.
Mr. Spook replied, "No, Mr. President. I'm a science officer, not a magician." As soon as he said those words, Mr. Spook slapped his own forehead at the thought that he'd just made the kind of remark that he had grown tired of hearing from Dr. McKay. Spook exclaimed, "I can't believe I just said that!" Facing Dr. McKay, Mr. Spook said to Captain Kook, "Keep that man away from me!"
Dr. McKay shrugged and smiled.
Mr. Spook resumed looking into the scanner screen. "Mmm-hmm!" Mr. Spook hummed approvingly at the screen.
"Mr. Spook!" the captain reprimanded. "Are you looking down women's bodices again?"
Without taking his eyes off the screen, Mr. Spook replied,
"Affirmative, Captain."
"You're supposed to be locating dinner."
"I located dinner a half hour ago. Do you like Polynesian food?"
"Sure. Even if I didn't, it should be an improvement over what we had for lunch. Are we having a luau?"
"Affirmative, Captain. I'll be locking on target in a few minutes. We'll have our feast as soon as My Favorite Martian is over."
* * *
As soon as My Favorite Martian was over, President Kennedy and the officers and crew of the Lula Belle headed for the transporter room. They all lined up outside of the transporter room, licking their chops like dogs eager for a steak. The officers occupied the head of the line. The senior officers of the Lula Belle moved ahead of the other officers. Captain Kook escorted President Kennedy to the front of the line. They heard Mr. Snot call out, "R-r-r-ready to transport supper!" He pulled a lever, and everyone nearby watched a Polynesian feast appear on the transporter pads. The crew congratulated Mr. Spook for having redeemed himself for the dreadful meal he had beamed aboard for lunch.
They all served themselves buffet-style. President Kennedy gaped at the array of delicious foods: a roast whole pig, baked surf clams, at least a dozen kinds of fruits, baked sweet potatoes and many other foods. The President gushed, "I don't know what to say! This is very thoughtful of you going to this much trouble for me. I really appreciate it."
"Actually, Mr. President," Captain Kook responded, "most of our meals are like this. We do our best to make every meal a banquet."
"How can you afford all this every day? It's a meal fit for a king."
"It's funny you should say that," Mr. Spook interjected. "The king of some Polynesian island is getting married in a couple of hours. This was supposed to have been his wedding feast. After we're through eating, we'll beam the bones and leftovers and other stuff back to where we got it. Don't look so surprised, Mr. President. We do it all the time. It beats having to eat military rations."
"Don't you feel guilty," President Kennedy asked, "about all the trouble it must cause people when you do this?"
"Sure," Captain Kook cut in, "we especially feel sorry for all the caterers who've lost their jobs on our account; but all this good food helps us to overcome any guilt feelings we may have about it. Why, sometimes, we even use the transporter to do charity work. Last week, Mr. Spook got to feeling sorry for some down-and-outers who had nothing to eat except what they could get at a Methodist soup kitchen."
"So, what did he do?"
"The next time they went to the soup kitchen, they found a banquet waiting for them. The Methodists had no idea where it came from, but they were happy to serve it to those needy people."
"Where did the banquet come from?"
"From a fund-raising feed some political candidate for the U. S. Senate was throwing for his millionaire friends. Don't worry, it turned out just fine. We sent those millionaires the stuff the soup kitchen had prepared."
President Kennedy roared with laughter. "Then what happened?" he asked. "At first, they were livid. One guy even pointed out that it was the kind of stuff you'd expect ‘derelicts’ to be served in a soup kitchen. Then his wife told him that maybe they should try eating what the less fortunate have to eat; that maybe it would help them to understand what they're going through. Before the meal was over, almost every millionaire there was thanking the candidate for opening their eyes for them. With their help, he may even get elected."
"The crew seemed a bit miffed over what Mr. Spook had procured for their lunch. I gather it wasn't a feast?"
"Oh, it was a feast, all right," Dr. McKay said. "It was a feast prepared in a South American rain forest. The main course turned out to be termites." During the feast, President Kennedy asked the officers and crew of the Lula Belle about life aboard their spaceship and why they had signed up for a mission that had been expected to last for five years. Each had his story to tell, but President Kennedy found Ensign Jackass's story the most intriguing.
"I just had to get away from my family," Jackass sighed.
"You didn't get along very well with them?" the President asked.
"Oh, it wasn't that. We got along fine. It just got to be too confusing."
"How so?"
"After my mother died, and my father remarried, his new wife was a generation younger than he was. There was nothing wrong with that. The trouble started when I fell in love with her mother and married her. My father became my son-in-law, and my step mother became my step daughter, which made my wife my granddaughter. when our wives gave birth, my father's new son became my grandson as well as my brother; and, since my new son became my father's brother, that meant that my son was also my uncle. Somewhere along the way, somebody figured out that I was my own grandfather. To make matters even more confusing, my wife's father was a Cro-magnon Man whose body had been found frozen in a glacier in northern Europe for ten thousand years. It was by means of his sperm that my wife was conceived. My wife's mother was an aborted fetus whose eggs had been united with the Cro-magnon Man's sperm to make my wife. Other parts of the aborted fetus were frozen for medical research. My wife had always wondered what her mother would have been like if she had had the opportunity to be born. So, she had some DNA—the genetic building blocks of the human cell—extracted from the fetus that would have been her mother; and, through a process called cloning, had the reconstructed embryo implanted into her—my wife's—womb. By that means, even though my wife's mother previously had never been born, my wife gave birth to her own mother. Holidays such as Father's Day and Mother's Day got confusing enough. It was even more confusing when my wife's daughter, who is also my step mother, would try to tell my wife what she could and could not do. Even as an infant, my wife's daughter would say to her, `Because I'm your mother!' What really bummed me out was when my father had his sex change operation. Now my father is my mother. That's when I knew it was time to leave."
"Yes, of course!" President Kennedy agreed. "I can also imagine that the Catholic Church must be having fits."
"Not really," Jackass responded. "Early in the twenty-first century, the pope decided that the Catholic Church should become more democratic. One of his reforms was to have popes face re-election every few years, and anyone with a Catholic background could vote. Also, anyone with a Catholic background could be elected Pope. The very next pope's Catholic background consisted of having played a nun in a movie. Pope Whoopi set about making the Catholic Church more democratic and more modern. Now that the Catholic Church is more democratic and more interested in keeping up with the times, it's a whole lot more fun than it used to be, and it really helps people to feel good about themselves."
"So, why did you have to leave?"
"One of the most liberating things I've ever realized is that, the universe is bigger than any problem I can possibly have. For that reason, no problem is so big or so confusing that I can't successfully run away from it."
"Does it ever bother you to think that, even though you left the confusion behind, it still exists in your family's life?"
"Not in the least. Another liberating realization is the freedom of knowing that I'm not responsible for the behavior of other people. As long as I can live the kind of life that lets me feel good about myself, I'm fulfilling my responsibility to myself and to others."
"After your father had his sex change operation," President Kennedy asked, "did that legally annul his marriage to your—well, whatever you'd call her?"
"Not at all. In the twenty-second century, people are pretty open minded about what constitutes a family. Have you seen Mr. Spook's wife?"
"I'm not sure if I have."
"His wife used to really hate it when Mr. Spook spent all evening on his computer. One night, she said to him, `I think you love that computer more than you love me!' He thought about it and realized that his wife was right."
"You mean he began spending more time with his wife?"
"No, he divorced his wife and married the computer."
He spoke into the cellular telephone, "I'm ready to beam up, Snotty." In the next second, every molecule in President Kennedy's body was transformed into energy and sent heavenward. As he was being re-materialized, President Kennedy found himself in a large cubicle that, though its color was white, resembled a large oven. He was standing on one of several pads that looked like the eyes of a stove.
He couldn't help wondering if the matter/energy conversion transporter was also used for cooking.
As expected, Captain Kook, Commander Snot and Doctor McKay met
President Kennedy in the transporting room when the President arrived. "Good evening, Mr. President," said Captain Kook. "I trust you had a pleasant trip?"
"The departure and arrival were a little startling," President Kennedy replied, "but I was scarcely aware of the trip itself. Before I go to sick bay for my physical, would you show me the engine room and try to explain to me how it works?"
Commander Snot did his best to explain the matter/anti-matter means of propulsion. He said that each thing in the material universe has its opposite, and a particle of anti-matter is just as substantial as a particle of matter. Whenever matter and anti-matter meet, they neutralize one another. This results in a release of energy that is powerful enough to propel a spaceship. This process also warps space to a degree that (remember that, according to Einstein's theory, space is curved anyway) the spaceship may be propelled up to nine times the speed of light.
President Kennedy listened intently, but it was clear he was having trouble understanding this application of physical theory. Snotty took another approach. "Matter and anti-matter," he said, "is a little like two of your television personalities, Ralph and Alice Cramden. Ralph earns money and put it in the bank. Alice writes checks, taking it out of the bank. Each time one of her checks for a certain amount comes in contact with Ralph's bank account, it neutralizes an equal amount of his income. The more Alice does it, the more energy it generates between her and Ralph. As Ralph Cramden has pointed out, that energy, if harnessed, would be sufficient to send someone to the moon."
To President Kennedy, that sounded like bad physics and worse television. President Kennedy smiled, "I hope Dr. McKay's medical prowess is better than your physics. I'd better head for sick bay before your explanation starts to make sense to me."
Commander Snot excused himself, pleading that he had to take care of important business on the bridge. Captain Kook, Dr. McKay and President Kennedy left the engineering room for sick bay.
Along the way, President Kennedy saw what seemed like quite a number of elderly people—mostly women—walking the passageways. "This looks like an interstellar veteran’s hospital," he remarked. "Is it?"
"No, Mr. President," replied Captain Kook. "They're the crew. Thirty years in space has really taken its toll. When we first began the mission, we expected it to last only five years. We brought many women and some ethnic minorities aboard. To make ourselves feel noble, we gave some of them positions of responsibility. We were still racist, male chauvinist pigs, though. Very few of them were given any discernable responsibilities. We made all the women wear mini-skirts and Nancy Sinatra boots. After all, during five years in space, what would you expect us to do in our spare time? Wait for shore leave and seek out strange, new life? No way!"
"You mean," asked President Kennedy, "that most of them have nothing essential to do aboard the Lula Belle?"
"That's about it. They can't do a thing, but it sure is fun watching them do it. It was my idea. The previous captain, Christopher Spike, got along just fine with a compliment of 203. It was boring. After he got messed up on some gosh forsaken planet and had to be confined to what looked like a big radio on wheels, I took over as captain. I brought 203 women aboard for eye candy and two dozen ethnic minorities just to make me feel noble."
"So, you increased the ship's compliment from 203 to 430?"
"Yep. We have had as many as 433. As selfish as it was, it turned out to be a smart move. After thirty years, most of the ship's operations have been taken over by the children of the original crew. Some of us old timers refuse to step aside, though. We had to convert one of the recreation rooms into a day care center for our grandchildren, and some of the crew's quarters have been converted into a nursing home."
"You started out with 430 men and women, and then added children and grandchildren. How many do you have aboard now?"
"We still have 430. The casualty rate is pretty high on this ship. Every time we go down to an unfamiliar planet, some more people get killed. We soon learned to bring along some crewmembers to act as cannon fodder. They get killed, and we miraculously survive. Sometimes Bonehhead gets hoarse from saying, `He's dead, Jim,' all the time. Ah, here we are at sick bay! I'll leave you with Bonehead, while I take care of something urgent on the bridge."
Bonehead led President Kennedy to a bed-like table. At the head of the table, President Kennedy saw what looked like a late-twentieth century mechanic's tune-up equipment. "Will you lie down, please?" Bonehead said in his best bedside manner.
With Nurse Chaplin looking on, Bonehead turned on the physical scanner and read the results. "That's incredible!" he exclaimed. "It's a wonder you're even alive!"
"What's wrong?" President Kennedy cried.
"Your pulse is supposed to be 242, but it's only 65. And your body temperature---it's--it's a wonder you don't pass out! It's 98.6 degrees."
"Isn't that normal?"
"Oh, yes, I forgot. My most recent patient was that devil-eared character, and I'd forgotten to readjust the setting. Yeah, other than Hodgkin's disease, your health is fine. Drop your pants, so Nurse Chaplin can give you a shot. That should cure your Hodgkin's disease in a matter of weeks."
President Kennedy winced, "I appreciate that you have a cure for my ailment, but, in three centuries, you still haven't found a less painful way to administer treatment?"
"Well, maybe, Mr. President, but Nurse Chaplin has been telling me you have sexy buns. She'd like a closer look." President Kennedy scowled at Doctor McKay. "On second thought," Doctor McKay smiled sheepishly, "why spoil a good imagination? Imagining what your buns look like should please her more than the reality. Roll up your sleeve." He turned to his disappointed nurse and said, "Okay, Nurse Chaplin, pop him one."
Nurse Chaplin popped him one with the vaccination gun, and shuffled over to a nearby counter. "Well, Mr. President," Doctor McKay said cheerfully, "That's it for now. I'd like to give you another checkup in a week or so. While you're here, would you like to see the bridge?"
"I'm sure you're talking about the ship's bridge, and not the Key Bridge in Washington," said President Kennedy.
"Of course—as soon as you've made an appointment with Nurse Chaplin." He made an appointment for the Monday morning about a week thence. Doctor McKay led President Kennedy to the bridge. Nurse Chaplin remained to return the vaccination capsules to the medicine cabinet and tidy up a bit.
* * *
When President Kennedy and Bonehead arrived on the bridge, they saw Ensign Jackass, Lieutenants O'Hara and Dzau-le, Captain Kook, Commanders Spook and Snot, and most of their children and grandchildren crowded in front of the ship's visual scanner screen. Upon glancing at the screen, President Kennedy immediately recognized Ray Walston and Bill Bixby in the popular television series, My Favorite Martian. "That Ray Walston really cracks me up!" one of the oldest officers laughed.
Captain Kook introduced President Kennedy to all of them, adding that his communications officer, Lt. O'Hara, was also his wife. Their romance, Captain Kook said, had begun some years earlier, on a planet populated by people who had telekinesis. The ruler of the planet used his telekinetic power to force Captain Kook and Lieutenant O'Hara to kiss one another. "It got became habit-forming," Captain Kook remarked. Sometime later, Dr. Janice Lister, a former sweetheart, tried to pressure Kook into "doing the honorable thing" by marrying Lister. To Kook, marrying Lt. O'Hara seemed like an expedient means of escaping Dr. Lister's clutches.
During Captain Kook's ramblings, President Kennedy noticed that Mr. Spook was the only person on the bridge who appeared to be working. Mr. Spook, instead of watching My Favorite Martian, peered into a much smaller screen on one of the consoles. His eyes were illuminated by a pale, blue light coming from the screen. Captain Kook said to President Kennedy, "Mr. Spook spends a great deal of his time looking into that thing. Sometimes it's essential. Sometimes he does it just for fun."
"What is it?" Kennedy asked.
"It's a scanner that also analyzes the things he sees. I understand that you have spy satellites capable of reading a newspaper headline from outer space."
"That's somewhat true. The photographs have to be enlarged and enhanced in other ways, but, if the picture is taken during the day, we can read a headline or identify a matchbox."
"On the Lula Belle," Captain Kook explained, "our onboard computer does all the enhancing we need, day or night, without having to take a picture. Day or night, we can even read a newspaper over someone's shoulder." President Kennedy emitted a low whistle. Captain Kook continued, "The computer even locks on the scanner screen to the item being examined, so we can read the newspaper, even
if the man moves. If he turns the page, the scanner automatically locks onto the next page.
Yesterday, I caught Mr. Spook laughing at the scanner. As it turned out, he was reading MAD magazine."
"Whether it's a clear day or night?" President Kennedy asked Mr. Spook.
"That's right," Spook replied. "Even the dimmest rays of light are magnified up to ten thousand times. It's as if it were daylight."
"Does it work that well in all kinds of weather?" Kennedy asked.
Mr. Spook replied, "No, Mr. President. I'm a science officer, not a magician." As soon as he said those words, Mr. Spook slapped his own forehead at the thought that he'd just made the kind of remark that he had grown tired of hearing from Dr. McKay. Spook exclaimed, "I can't believe I just said that!" Facing Dr. McKay, Mr. Spook said to Captain Kook, "Keep that man away from me!"
Dr. McKay shrugged and smiled.
Mr. Spook resumed looking into the scanner screen. "Mmm-hmm!" Mr. Spook hummed approvingly at the screen.
"Mr. Spook!" the captain reprimanded. "Are you looking down women's bodices again?"
Without taking his eyes off the screen, Mr. Spook replied,
"Affirmative, Captain."
"You're supposed to be locating dinner."
"I located dinner a half hour ago. Do you like Polynesian food?"
"Sure. Even if I didn't, it should be an improvement over what we had for lunch. Are we having a luau?"
"Affirmative, Captain. I'll be locking on target in a few minutes. We'll have our feast as soon as My Favorite Martian is over."
* * *
As soon as My Favorite Martian was over, President Kennedy and the officers and crew of the Lula Belle headed for the transporter room. They all lined up outside of the transporter room, licking their chops like dogs eager for a steak. The officers occupied the head of the line. The senior officers of the Lula Belle moved ahead of the other officers. Captain Kook escorted President Kennedy to the front of the line. They heard Mr. Snot call out, "R-r-r-ready to transport supper!" He pulled a lever, and everyone nearby watched a Polynesian feast appear on the transporter pads. The crew congratulated Mr. Spook for having redeemed himself for the dreadful meal he had beamed aboard for lunch.
They all served themselves buffet-style. President Kennedy gaped at the array of delicious foods: a roast whole pig, baked surf clams, at least a dozen kinds of fruits, baked sweet potatoes and many other foods. The President gushed, "I don't know what to say! This is very thoughtful of you going to this much trouble for me. I really appreciate it."
"Actually, Mr. President," Captain Kook responded, "most of our meals are like this. We do our best to make every meal a banquet."
"How can you afford all this every day? It's a meal fit for a king."
"It's funny you should say that," Mr. Spook interjected. "The king of some Polynesian island is getting married in a couple of hours. This was supposed to have been his wedding feast. After we're through eating, we'll beam the bones and leftovers and other stuff back to where we got it. Don't look so surprised, Mr. President. We do it all the time. It beats having to eat military rations."
"Don't you feel guilty," President Kennedy asked, "about all the trouble it must cause people when you do this?"
"Sure," Captain Kook cut in, "we especially feel sorry for all the caterers who've lost their jobs on our account; but all this good food helps us to overcome any guilt feelings we may have about it. Why, sometimes, we even use the transporter to do charity work. Last week, Mr. Spook got to feeling sorry for some down-and-outers who had nothing to eat except what they could get at a Methodist soup kitchen."
"So, what did he do?"
"The next time they went to the soup kitchen, they found a banquet waiting for them. The Methodists had no idea where it came from, but they were happy to serve it to those needy people."
"Where did the banquet come from?"
"From a fund-raising feed some political candidate for the U. S. Senate was throwing for his millionaire friends. Don't worry, it turned out just fine. We sent those millionaires the stuff the soup kitchen had prepared."
President Kennedy roared with laughter. "Then what happened?" he asked. "At first, they were livid. One guy even pointed out that it was the kind of stuff you'd expect ‘derelicts’ to be served in a soup kitchen. Then his wife told him that maybe they should try eating what the less fortunate have to eat; that maybe it would help them to understand what they're going through. Before the meal was over, almost every millionaire there was thanking the candidate for opening their eyes for them. With their help, he may even get elected."
"The crew seemed a bit miffed over what Mr. Spook had procured for their lunch. I gather it wasn't a feast?"
"Oh, it was a feast, all right," Dr. McKay said. "It was a feast prepared in a South American rain forest. The main course turned out to be termites." During the feast, President Kennedy asked the officers and crew of the Lula Belle about life aboard their spaceship and why they had signed up for a mission that had been expected to last for five years. Each had his story to tell, but President Kennedy found Ensign Jackass's story the most intriguing.
"I just had to get away from my family," Jackass sighed.
"You didn't get along very well with them?" the President asked.
"Oh, it wasn't that. We got along fine. It just got to be too confusing."
"How so?"
"After my mother died, and my father remarried, his new wife was a generation younger than he was. There was nothing wrong with that. The trouble started when I fell in love with her mother and married her. My father became my son-in-law, and my step mother became my step daughter, which made my wife my granddaughter. when our wives gave birth, my father's new son became my grandson as well as my brother; and, since my new son became my father's brother, that meant that my son was also my uncle. Somewhere along the way, somebody figured out that I was my own grandfather. To make matters even more confusing, my wife's father was a Cro-magnon Man whose body had been found frozen in a glacier in northern Europe for ten thousand years. It was by means of his sperm that my wife was conceived. My wife's mother was an aborted fetus whose eggs had been united with the Cro-magnon Man's sperm to make my wife. Other parts of the aborted fetus were frozen for medical research. My wife had always wondered what her mother would have been like if she had had the opportunity to be born. So, she had some DNA—the genetic building blocks of the human cell—extracted from the fetus that would have been her mother; and, through a process called cloning, had the reconstructed embryo implanted into her—my wife's—womb. By that means, even though my wife's mother previously had never been born, my wife gave birth to her own mother. Holidays such as Father's Day and Mother's Day got confusing enough. It was even more confusing when my wife's daughter, who is also my step mother, would try to tell my wife what she could and could not do. Even as an infant, my wife's daughter would say to her, `Because I'm your mother!' What really bummed me out was when my father had his sex change operation. Now my father is my mother. That's when I knew it was time to leave."
"Yes, of course!" President Kennedy agreed. "I can also imagine that the Catholic Church must be having fits."
"Not really," Jackass responded. "Early in the twenty-first century, the pope decided that the Catholic Church should become more democratic. One of his reforms was to have popes face re-election every few years, and anyone with a Catholic background could vote. Also, anyone with a Catholic background could be elected Pope. The very next pope's Catholic background consisted of having played a nun in a movie. Pope Whoopi set about making the Catholic Church more democratic and more modern. Now that the Catholic Church is more democratic and more interested in keeping up with the times, it's a whole lot more fun than it used to be, and it really helps people to feel good about themselves."
"So, why did you have to leave?"
"One of the most liberating things I've ever realized is that, the universe is bigger than any problem I can possibly have. For that reason, no problem is so big or so confusing that I can't successfully run away from it."
"Does it ever bother you to think that, even though you left the confusion behind, it still exists in your family's life?"
"Not in the least. Another liberating realization is the freedom of knowing that I'm not responsible for the behavior of other people. As long as I can live the kind of life that lets me feel good about myself, I'm fulfilling my responsibility to myself and to others."
"After your father had his sex change operation," President Kennedy asked, "did that legally annul his marriage to your—well, whatever you'd call her?"
"Not at all. In the twenty-second century, people are pretty open minded about what constitutes a family. Have you seen Mr. Spook's wife?"
"I'm not sure if I have."
"His wife used to really hate it when Mr. Spook spent all evening on his computer. One night, she said to him, `I think you love that computer more than you love me!' He thought about it and realized that his wife was right."
"You mean he began spending more time with his wife?"
"No, he divorced his wife and married the computer."
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