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Copyright 2010 by William A. Mays, Proprietor
Our Internet-Research Editor, who broke the story about the relationship between Federal Reserve chairman Ben Bernanke and Captain Edward Smith of the Titanic, has uncovered evidence that President John F. Kennedy actually was not assassinated, but instead committed suicide. The scenario goes like this:
Overwhelmingly distraught over the strange death of his mistress Marilyn Monroe 15 months earlier, the Kennedy family's unfortunate ties to the Mafia, his chronic health problems requiring his taking a laundry list of prescription medications, and other stressors, President Kennedy felt he had no choice but to end it all. But how? The nation's chief executive could not be seen taking his own life. The country's image was at stake. It had to have the appearance of an assassination. So casting about for a person who could help, Kennedy settled on Lee Harvey Oswald, a low-level U.S. intelligence operative stuck in a career rut. But this was a big deal. Oswald would risk being caught and accused of killing the president. No small potatoes. So Kennedy promised to arrange his escape and offered to pay him $1.5 million. Oswald agreed and hired an accomplice to help with the plan.
The fateful day arrived, and Oswald set himself up on his sixth-floor perch in the Texas School Book Depository building, while his accomplice set up across Houston Street on the roof of the Dal-Tex building. Kennedy's motorcade twisted its way from Main Street onto Houston, then around onto Elm Street. Kennedy knew his seconds were numbered. He waved goodbye to his adoring public one last time, and then braced for the inevitable. The home movie that Abraham Zapruder took that afternoon clearly shows what happened next. The first shots occur around frame 223. Kennedy feels something strike his back and jerks his elbows upwards while raising his clenched fists to a position in front of his mouth and chin. Seated to his left, his wife Jacqueline looks toward him three fifths of a second after his sudden reaction, and places her hands on his left arm. But soon she becomes less concerned with her husband—who appears calm and stable—than with Texas governor John Connelly, who is seated directly in front of Kennedy and is writhing and howling in pain. One-and-a-half seconds after her husband's initial reaction, Mrs. Kennedy turns to look at Connelly, and continues to look in the direction of the grotesquely animated governor for the next two seconds. At that point, it appears the president says something to Jackie. During the final one-and-a-quarter seconds of her husband's life, she turns back toward him and leans in close so she can hear what he is saying. At that moment her husband's head explodes like a pumpkin holding a lit M-80. And he belonged to the ages.
John F. Kennedy was a military-combat veteran, not a deferment-gobbling poltroon like some politicians. He'd just been shot in the back, while a person seated two feet in front of him reacted immediately like someone who'd just been seriously wounded. All of his military training and combat experience would have taught Kennedy what to do in a situation such as that. He had five seconds to hit the deck. And yet, he did nothing. Knowing what was happening, and that the end by his own design was at hand, President John F. Kennedy sat stoically and waited for the finishing blow.
Through signals and timing, Oswald and his accomplice had planned to fire simultaneous volleys. But Oswald's first bullet to strike Kennedy was a partial dud and only penetrated an inch or two. This bullet later fell out at Parkland Hospital and became the infamous "Magic Bullet" that some claim actually traveled through Kennedy and exited his throat, before traveling all the way through Connelly, breaking several bones on the way. Kennedy, of course, did not react like someone who'd just been shot through the throat. He did not grab at his throat with his hands. He did not appear to have a sudden loss of ability to breathe. In reality, it turns out, the first shot fired by Oswald's accomplice missed Kennedy, glancing off his right shoulder pad and tumbling into the back of Governor Connelly. Seeing his mistake, the accomplice lost his nerve and fired his next volley into an empty area toward Main Street. Empty except for bystander James Tague, who caught a ricochet fragment to the cheek. Oswald's next volley, on the other hand, was neither a dud nor a miss, and motorcycle police officer Bobby Hargis had the pieces of human brain splattered on his face as evidence to that fact.
After the shooting, Lee Harvey Oswald left the Book Depository building and was supposed to have gone straight to a safe house on North Marsalis Ave, but instead headed home to 1026 North Beckley Ave, where he picked up a pistol before continuing on foot toward his destination. He might have sensed there were forces marshaling against him other than law enforcement, and he turned out to be correct. Dallas police officer J.D. Tippit had been looking for Oswald even before the call went out that he was a wanted man. But Tippit wasn't looking to arrest Oswald; he just wanted to deliver a message. The message was that the Mob had discovered the little business deal Oswald had made with the president. Finding Oswald near the intersection of East 10th Street and Patton Ave, Tippit tried to tell him the Mafia had picked up his accomplice and forced him to talk. Oswald's safe house had been compromised, Tippit continued. But Oswald took the news poorly and decided to shoot the messenger, killing Tippit on the spot. Oswald then reversed direction and ended up inside the Texas Theatre—a movie house showing "War Is Hell," a military actioner in which a sergeant in search of personal glory leads his men on a dangerous mission after hostilities had officially ceased. Oswald was arrested where he sat, and the rest—as they say—is history.
Having recovered the $1.5 million President Kennedy had left for Oswald, the Mafia dispatched Jack Ruby to tie everything up in a neat bow. Though legend inside connected circles these days has it that before it could be spirited out of Dallas the money was lifted by Ruby's hapless roommate George Senator. It turned out the safe house assigned to Oswald was just a few blocks from Ruby and Senator's apartment, and in their haste, Mafia soldiers had dropped the money off at the apartment while they awaited orders on where to take it next. The completely innocent—and not too bright—Senator picked up the case, which he mistook for his, and placed it among his own effects. After Ruby left the apartment Sunday morning to whack Oswald, Senator discovered what was inside the case and proceeded to care for it in a completely selfish manner. When the money was not found, conventional wisdom among Mafiosi at the time was that Ruby had hidden it with the thought that he'd never be sentenced to life for killing the president's assassin, and that he could enjoy it once he got out. Ruby, of course, went on to die in prison, while George Senator lived a comfortable life in Dallas for the next 29 years before dying of natural causes.
At last, the dust began to settle from the tragedy of the president's death. Jacqueline, who initially could not remember many details of the traumatic events of that day, went on to marry billionaire Aristotle Onassis and become the jet-setting "Jackie O" of the late 1960s and 70s. But by the 1990s, as her life was winding down, her thoughts went back to those times, and she hired a top-flight recovered-memory therapist. It was during these sessions that the full details of what had happened that day in Dallas emerged. She remembered her husband jolting his arms upward, her touching his left arm with both her hands and looking toward Governor Connelly. But then in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, she remembers him calling her name. She leaned toward her husband and heard him say "Tell Caroline and John-John I..." Then comes a loud crack that she said she didn't remember hearing again until she heard Barry Bonds hit a home run. As a result, she could not stomach the sight of Barry Bonds for the rest of her life.
Overwhelmingly distraught over the strange death of his mistress Marilyn Monroe 15 months earlier, the Kennedy family's unfortunate ties to the Mafia, his chronic health problems requiring his taking a laundry list of prescription medications, and other stressors, President Kennedy felt he had no choice but to end it all. But how? The nation's chief executive could not be seen taking his own life. The country's image was at stake. It had to have the appearance of an assassination. So casting about for a person who could help, Kennedy settled on Lee Harvey Oswald, a low-level U.S. intelligence operative stuck in a career rut. But this was a big deal. Oswald would risk being caught and accused of killing the president. No small potatoes. So Kennedy promised to arrange his escape and offered to pay him $1.5 million. Oswald agreed and hired an accomplice to help with the plan.
The fateful day arrived, and Oswald set himself up on his sixth-floor perch in the Texas School Book Depository building, while his accomplice set up across Houston Street on the roof of the Dal-Tex building. Kennedy's motorcade twisted its way from Main Street onto Houston, then around onto Elm Street. Kennedy knew his seconds were numbered. He waved goodbye to his adoring public one last time, and then braced for the inevitable. The home movie that Abraham Zapruder took that afternoon clearly shows what happened next. The first shots occur around frame 223. Kennedy feels something strike his back and jerks his elbows upwards while raising his clenched fists to a position in front of his mouth and chin. Seated to his left, his wife Jacqueline looks toward him three fifths of a second after his sudden reaction, and places her hands on his left arm. But soon she becomes less concerned with her husband—who appears calm and stable—than with Texas governor John Connelly, who is seated directly in front of Kennedy and is writhing and howling in pain. One-and-a-half seconds after her husband's initial reaction, Mrs. Kennedy turns to look at Connelly, and continues to look in the direction of the grotesquely animated governor for the next two seconds. At that point, it appears the president says something to Jackie. During the final one-and-a-quarter seconds of her husband's life, she turns back toward him and leans in close so she can hear what he is saying. At that moment her husband's head explodes like a pumpkin holding a lit M-80. And he belonged to the ages.
John F. Kennedy was a military-combat veteran, not a deferment-gobbling poltroon like some politicians. He'd just been shot in the back, while a person seated two feet in front of him reacted immediately like someone who'd just been seriously wounded. All of his military training and combat experience would have taught Kennedy what to do in a situation such as that. He had five seconds to hit the deck. And yet, he did nothing. Knowing what was happening, and that the end by his own design was at hand, President John F. Kennedy sat stoically and waited for the finishing blow.
Through signals and timing, Oswald and his accomplice had planned to fire simultaneous volleys. But Oswald's first bullet to strike Kennedy was a partial dud and only penetrated an inch or two. This bullet later fell out at Parkland Hospital and became the infamous "Magic Bullet" that some claim actually traveled through Kennedy and exited his throat, before traveling all the way through Connelly, breaking several bones on the way. Kennedy, of course, did not react like someone who'd just been shot through the throat. He did not grab at his throat with his hands. He did not appear to have a sudden loss of ability to breathe. In reality, it turns out, the first shot fired by Oswald's accomplice missed Kennedy, glancing off his right shoulder pad and tumbling into the back of Governor Connelly. Seeing his mistake, the accomplice lost his nerve and fired his next volley into an empty area toward Main Street. Empty except for bystander James Tague, who caught a ricochet fragment to the cheek. Oswald's next volley, on the other hand, was neither a dud nor a miss, and motorcycle police officer Bobby Hargis had the pieces of human brain splattered on his face as evidence to that fact.
After the shooting, Lee Harvey Oswald left the Book Depository building and was supposed to have gone straight to a safe house on North Marsalis Ave, but instead headed home to 1026 North Beckley Ave, where he picked up a pistol before continuing on foot toward his destination. He might have sensed there were forces marshaling against him other than law enforcement, and he turned out to be correct. Dallas police officer J.D. Tippit had been looking for Oswald even before the call went out that he was a wanted man. But Tippit wasn't looking to arrest Oswald; he just wanted to deliver a message. The message was that the Mob had discovered the little business deal Oswald had made with the president. Finding Oswald near the intersection of East 10th Street and Patton Ave, Tippit tried to tell him the Mafia had picked up his accomplice and forced him to talk. Oswald's safe house had been compromised, Tippit continued. But Oswald took the news poorly and decided to shoot the messenger, killing Tippit on the spot. Oswald then reversed direction and ended up inside the Texas Theatre—a movie house showing "War Is Hell," a military actioner in which a sergeant in search of personal glory leads his men on a dangerous mission after hostilities had officially ceased. Oswald was arrested where he sat, and the rest—as they say—is history.
Having recovered the $1.5 million President Kennedy had left for Oswald, the Mafia dispatched Jack Ruby to tie everything up in a neat bow. Though legend inside connected circles these days has it that before it could be spirited out of Dallas the money was lifted by Ruby's hapless roommate George Senator. It turned out the safe house assigned to Oswald was just a few blocks from Ruby and Senator's apartment, and in their haste, Mafia soldiers had dropped the money off at the apartment while they awaited orders on where to take it next. The completely innocent—and not too bright—Senator picked up the case, which he mistook for his, and placed it among his own effects. After Ruby left the apartment Sunday morning to whack Oswald, Senator discovered what was inside the case and proceeded to care for it in a completely selfish manner. When the money was not found, conventional wisdom among Mafiosi at the time was that Ruby had hidden it with the thought that he'd never be sentenced to life for killing the president's assassin, and that he could enjoy it once he got out. Ruby, of course, went on to die in prison, while George Senator lived a comfortable life in Dallas for the next 29 years before dying of natural causes.
At last, the dust began to settle from the tragedy of the president's death. Jacqueline, who initially could not remember many details of the traumatic events of that day, went on to marry billionaire Aristotle Onassis and become the jet-setting "Jackie O" of the late 1960s and 70s. But by the 1990s, as her life was winding down, her thoughts went back to those times, and she hired a top-flight recovered-memory therapist. It was during these sessions that the full details of what had happened that day in Dallas emerged. She remembered her husband jolting his arms upward, her touching his left arm with both her hands and looking toward Governor Connelly. But then in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, she remembers him calling her name. She leaned toward her husband and heard him say "Tell Caroline and John-John I..." Then comes a loud crack that she said she didn't remember hearing again until she heard Barry Bonds hit a home run. As a result, she could not stomach the sight of Barry Bonds for the rest of her life.
August 1, 2010
| Did John F. Kennedy Commit Suicide? |
| Shocking New Information Emerges About the Death of President Kennedy |