WHITEWASH:

THE REPORT ON

THE WARREN REPORT

by

Harold Weisberg

Copyright © Harold Weisberg 1965

All rights reserved, including the right to

reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

To my wife, whose ancestors dreamed of man's freedom, fought the Revolution to establish it, and preserved it by fighting both for and against the Union; who is the living embodiment of their spirit and deep beliefs; and whose great labor made this book possible, with the full appreciation of the value of this inheritance that became mine when my parents emigrated to a land in which their son would be born free, this book is lovingly dedicated.

CONTENTS

Preface	v

Introduction	xi

A Word about Investigations	xvii

1. Death in Dallas	1

2. The Assassin	11

3. The Set-up for the Assassination	17

4. The Marksman	37

5. At the Depository: The Tangible Evidence	49

6. The Tippit Murder	83

7. Oswald's Legal Rights	103

8. Oswald's Murder: The Press and the Police	135

9. The Witnesses and Their Treatment	163

10. The Oswalds' Government Relations	189

11. The False Oswald	217

12. The Number of Shots	245

13. The Doctors and the Autopsy	265

CONCLUSION	299

POSTSCRIPT	307

INDEX	313

Preface

This is a story like none other in our history. Perhaps it is unique in all history. It is the story of a most odious event. It is the hitherto untold story of the dubious epitaph of the whitewashing inquest with which the assassinated popular young President, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, was consigned to history.

This is the book that could not be printed--in the United States and eight foreign countries.

And this preface is the story of the book--of the author's fourteen-month effort to get the truth out, and the explanation of its appearance in this, the least desirable of possible forms.

Editors vied with each other in lavishing praises upon the book. Publishers feared to print it.

Why do publishers fear this subject? A glance at almost any publisher's list shows the kind of trivia that does get printed. Why, in two and a half years since that tragic day in Dallas, has not a single publisher come out with a single substantial book? Why has not a single major magazine had a single straightforward analysis of the Report? There were a few books of conjecture that slipped immediately and almost unnoticed off the press, including one that is mildly critical of the Commission but is hardly a scratching of the surface.

Why will not a single publisher risk the wrath he anticipates from the government? Is the government in our country that far above criticism for its inadequate investigation of the President's murder? Surely this is a self-imposed fear. "Big Brother" certainly has not sent forth his emissaries to snarl "Verboten!" into the corporate ears.

It is because the government buys such a vast proportion of the outpouring of the American presses, as a number of editors and book-sellers have indicated, and the fear is of financial retribution by exclusion from recommended listings? Can it be, as others seriously declare, that Americans prefer a placebo, to forget that bleak day and JFK with it?

Seven literary agents, all interested in new clients, suddenly found themselves too busy to "do justice to the book" once they learned its subject matter. One courageous agent alone read it, pronounced it "a really excellent job," but ultimately resigned with the explanation, "No American publisher will now touch this subject." The same is true abroad.

The first publisher to consider this book exclaimed, "This is the most important thing I will do in my lifetime!" The last reported it could be "extraordinarily important." Most who commented found it "fascinating" and described their great interest and its merits in various flattering ways. There was general agreement it is moderate, responsible, and a convincing understatement. An executive of a major publishing house said the book was "important and historic," but declined it, despite sales-staff assurances that it was in the best-seller category. A surprisingly large number of both editorial and sales personnel agreed in this appraisal. At one of the very largest publishing concerns, the author was told they would make this "the best selling book of 1965," a not inconsiderable compliment when the major books of that year are considered.

Perhaps the most self-demeaning excuse offered was the most common, that the American people no longer have any interest in the late President or the circumstances of his murder and its investigation. In the words of a Canadian publisher, "The young man had a certain number of admirers . . . but very few of us have, I think, any continuing interest in either the man or the circumstances of his death." The executive editor for one of the best-known and oldest American publishers, who had earlier praised both the contents and the writing of the book and recommended it for publication, said, ". . . this is simply not the kind of project we would like to publish." Nor is it the kind authors relish writing!

Editors, as a group, were considerate, tried to be helpful and encouraging and were, for the most part, straightforward. A number battled with the owners because of their conviction the book should be printed. In several cases, the controlling powers refused the challenge that they read the book, explaining with candor they feared they'd be tempted!'' Few editors minced words. There is the executive editor of a vast enterprise which can print a book almost overnight--and has--who said, "You have obviously put in a tremendous amount of work and the result is a highly readable and convincing document . . . Certainly one day soon you must find the publisher with the enthusiasm and courage necessary." He is among those who sought to interest other publishers, and he later wrote of his company's "interest in it for paperback," saying it is "likely, depending completely on the reception it gets in hard cover." They wanted someone else to "break the ice." Others found the book reads "like a nonfiction detective story." Almost without exception, their letters concluded with the warmest expressions of hope for success--elsewhere.

In all, the book was offered to 63 United States book publishers during this fourteen-month period, which in itself may be a record. Of these, 21 had so little interest in the subject matter they declined even to read the book. Some houses considered the book as many as four agonizing times. The history is the same abroad, where in eight countries the author made eleven offers, without acceptance. In addition, an aging but wonderful agent in England made strenuous efforts, without success. One prominent British publisher with a world-wide reputation for "courage" wrote her on August 27, 1965, that the subject "is absolutely no go for us. I'd even go so far as to say the subject is almost dead in England." Another British publisher of like stature wrote "I feel this subject has now been exhausted, at least on this side of the Atlantic." In response to a request that he name a single definitive and responsible treatment of the subject in a book or a major magazine, an underling replied merely, "He asked me to say how grateful he was for the opportunity of considering it." His "consideration" introduced a new element into the use of the intellect. He did not read the book.

An executive of a highly respected French publisher, in Washington on June 2, 1965, castigated American publishers as cowards. His house, he said, would be very interested in this subject. He would personally read the book and, if his approval was confirmed by the president, they would print it as fast as possible. He even laid out a tentative publishing schedule. Amidst the most uninhibited praise of the author's courage and persistence, he promised the final decision within 28 days. Those were his last words. Neither he nor his superior has answered six letters from the author and at least one informal inquiry from an appropriate member of the French foreign service, his personal friend.

Mail from German publishers has failed to reach the author. But this is not surprising when it is understood that his mail from Washington, 30 miles away, sometimes requires six days, for delivery, and that from New York, less than 250 miles, as much as two weeks. A major magazine, first written before Thanksgiving by its United States correspondent and the author, finally received a later letter the next year and replied about Easter time, saying, "Unfortunately, the copy of your book . . . must have been lost, either here in our house or during transportation. We are, however, eagerly interested...." This letter reached the author three weeks prior to this writing.

In the United States and six foreign countries, collateral rights to the book were offered to fourteen major network papers, eight important magazines and chains in he electronic media.

The promised prompt phone call from one TV network saying whether they'd like to read the book has not been received in six months. Another, however, after readings by two top executives in the department producing "news specials" (they were, they said, "fascinated"), reported that, while they would not initiate anything, upon publication they would "likely" be interested.

The Washington bureau chief of a metropolitan newspaper could not understand why the first publisher who had the book did not hasten to contract for it. His managing editor also read it. Their message was they would have a news interest in it upon publication. Like virtually all the correspondents the author has approached, this one was generous with his limited time and, in whatever ways possible, willingly helpful. Like the others, he has preserved the author's confidences. And like the book editors, all are a credit to their honorable calling, a bulwark of the democratic society.

On another major newspaper, a managing editor, after some delay, read the book. When but 20 percent through it, he admitted it "excited" him. When he finished it, he had not a single adverse comment. But his paper would not be interested in serializing it because they just didn't believe it. No, he could not point to a single error in it.

A conscientious Congressman who is also a lawyer had a lengthy conference with an editor of still another newspaper, also one of the country's "top ten." The assurances of the lawyer Congressman meant nothing to the editor; he would not read the book. Later, he arranged for one of his by-line writers, an expert on national affairs, to read it. In ten weeks, it had not been read. Yet this editor wrote the author less than a month ago, "Obviously, if you could demonstrate that the circumstances of the murder and the nature of the investigation were different in major degree from those we have been led to believe, you would have not merely an interesting account but the most sensational story since the assassination itself. Any publisher who provided you the vehicle for such a demonstration would be showered with riches and honor."

Such seekers of riches and honors have escaped the author since mid-February 1965 when, following thousands of hours of research and the typing of a third of a million words of notes, the manuscript was completed. Without exception, all the publishers pronounced the subject matter important, one insisting even the author did not realize how important. Many also expressed the firm conviction the book should, in addition, be profitable. Yet all shunned the profit as much as the honors. In all, the author alone has made 103 offers of this book, not counting repeaters.

Last November, five months ago, one of the many wonderful people who have sought to help effectuate publication, the cultured and mature representative of a highly respected publisher, phoned the president of the concern to express his conviction that the book was important, worthwhile, well-done and a probable best-seller. On invitation, a copy was immediately and personally delivered. On December 22, in a letter reporting the book was then having "its second reading," this company said, "we are interested." Another copy "would speed up our processes considerably." Their decision would be conveyed "as soon after Christmas as possible." The additional copy was sent special delivery, by return mail. Following two months of silence, after some prodding, they wrote the decision would "take a little time yet. We hope that you will bear with us during the delay." In April they sought the opinion of at least one correspondent and, later, that of a legislator who had read the book.

"You should be proud" of what they had been told, the author was informed.

Finally, in their letter of April 18, which sped to him at an average of 60 miles for each of the four days it was in transit, the author was told an "utterly fearless" lawyer "with one of the most impressive legal minds dealing with material such as yours" had read it and convinced them it had to be reorganized into what clearly would be a strident and sensationalized presentation. The alternative might be "that you will end up with no book at all, at least as far as we are concerned" An immediate phone call elicited no meaningful elucidation. When, 24 hours later, the promised return call setting the date for a conference had not come, the author again consulted the busy correspondents who to a man reiterated their counsel against any sensationalizing of such a book, which coincides with the author's own beliefs, as he hopes this volume reflects.

When, after six fruitless months, no publisher offered to print the book the author prepared a limited edition and in August 1965, registered it under international copyright. With a few minor additions, this is that book--the book that could not be printed. This is the history and the incident that compelled the decision to present it further in this least desirable of possible forms.

Thus it has become more than an analysis of the investigation of the assassination of the late President. It is a commentary on the freedom of the press, the underpinning of the democratic society, and a measure of the state of that society.

Neither the assassination of an American President merits investigation may properly, in the author's belief, be the subject of a hippodrome. Nor can they ever be "exhausted" especially not by writers and publishers--and never as long as any reasonable question remains. Otherwise, is the President, the Presidency or the democratic society ever safe?

While this form of his book is the one in which he likes least to see it and one by which he cannot possibly recoup his costs, the author believes it is already too late. The time is well past the proverbial "now." But, however restricted, the word is at last out.

It will not be the last word.

It is rarely possible for a writer to express adequately his indebtedness to others or, in meaningful terms, to avoid cliches in conveying his gratitude. With this book, it may be less than a kindness to attempt to enumerate them. And the list would be too long. They are the kind of fine, unselfish people who give of themselves and their time to further beliefs they hold dear. They are from all walks of life, both public and private, and from the little-known to the more honored in our society. It is the author's hope that they all--from housewives to artists, clerks to legislators-- will understand the deep sense of appreciation he feels for their efforts and, even more, for their willingness.

If this book succeeds in its purpose, much of the credit should be theirs.

HAROLD WEISBERG

Hyattstown Md.

April 23, 1966

INTRODUCTION

Assassination is a political crime. Even in the rare, remote cases where the assassin had no comprehensible political objectives, the crimes had political consequences. Whether it is the head of a state or a lesser official, the assassination has immediate political effects. With the head of state murdered, the changes in the political structure and situation are more immediate and far-reaching. A policy change by the head of state has national and international implications. Even when his successor follows the same basic policies, there nonetheless are changes in the implementation of these policies. No two men work, think or act in exactly the same way.

Nations and people are reluctant to believe that any among them is capable of the horrible crime of assassination. It is less uncomfortable to believe the assassin was insane or at least unbalanced. Individually and nationally, thinking about assassinations turns toward the search for explanations more acceptable than the obvious. No one wants to believe a political murder was committed for personal gain, or that any segment of society is capable of such a monstrous deed for selfish ends. Shocking and paralyzing as assassination itself is to decent people, the traumatic feeling that, somehow, the nation itself is guilty may be even more stunning.

The typical assassin regards himself as a hero. Had John Wilkes Booth not made his dramatic gesture of the leap to the stage of the Ford Theatre with the cry, "Sic Semper Tyrannis," he might well have died a natural death. But the beliefs that drove him to murder President Lincoln were strong and compelling, and he felt called upon to announce to history that he had ended the life and rule of a man he believed a tyrant.

History rarely records complete or satisfactory explanations of the assassinations of heads of state. Many eminent historians maintain that even the Lincoln assassination is not yet fully explained. By their nature, and because they are political, assassinations usually involve conspiracy. One man, acting alone, is rarely in a position to execute an assassination. Both in preparation and escape he needs help. The exception is such a rarity, history records few such cases that are without substantial challenge.

The assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy at 12:30 p.m. November 22, 1963, in Dallas, Texas, and the official government accounts of it, are like previous assassinations. It was a political crime and, whether by design or not, was followed by political changes within the country and without. Perhaps it was even more of a blow because of the personal popularity of the young President and his family, and so national explanations and justifications were sought that, no matter how unlikely or unreasonable, might help remove this terrible burden from the public conscience.

The machinery of government moved rapidly. President Johnson appointed a commission of inquiry seven days after his predecessor's murder, empowering it by Executive Order 11130 and charging it to make a thorough investigation and to report on its investigation. Congress granted the Commission additional powers through a joint resolution, enacted as Public Law 88-202 on December 13, 1963. The Commission made its inquiry and on September 24,1964, delivered to the President a 900-page printed Report.

The President chose for the Commission's membership men of distinction and accomplishment, men of outstanding abilities and world-wide reputations, men who had devoted most of their adult lives to public service. The Chief Justice of the United States, the Honorable Earl Warren was designated chairman. The Commission in turn selected for its staff men of considerable attainment, naming as its chief the general counsel, J. Lee Rankin, a lawyer who had served as Solicitor General of the United States. He had 14 assistant counsels and other personnel, largely from the Executive Branch of the government. Both the Commission and its staff, therefore, were conspicuously able and competent.

Who evolved the philosophy and procedures by which the Commission would conduct its inquiry is not recorded and of little import since, even if the staff evolved the general approach, the Commission had to approve it, and, therefore, the method of the inquiry is the responsibility of the Commission, regardless of its origin. The Federal Bureau of Investigation had prepared a voluminous statement of its own findings, following the assassination and presented it to the Commission. It was this FBI report that guided the Commission and from the outset it became clear that the main, if not exclusive, effort of the Commission would be to validate this FBI report and not itself to make a report on the crime, although this ostensibly was the purpose of creating such a Commission.

There is in neither the Commission's Report nor in any of the 26 printed volumes of its hearings and exhibits any sign that the Commission considered this assassination as a political crime, an unvarying characteristic of all assassinations. Likewise, despite the great amount of space devoted to the subject of conspiracy, there is no sign of any real quest for evidence of conspiracy in the broad or political sense. Both the FBI and the Commission decided, as had the police before them, that Oswald was their legitimate prey. Nowhere in the Report is there any evidence that any other assassin or assassins were ever sought or considered. Can anything be logically concluded other than that nobody wanted to find a different assassin or any additional assassin?

Yet there were abundant and obvious indications of both suspicion of a conspiracy and of its existence. The Report was able to avoid them, a task made easier by the nature of the hearings. It was as successful in avoiding both the obvious indications and the even more obvious suspicions, some of which are dealt with in this book.

The superficial and immature manner in which the Report deals with the possibility of a conspiracy or of a different assassin is only one of the ways in which the Commission may have crippled itself. Despite references in both the Report and the press to the Commission's investigators, the fact is that, in the accepted sense, the Commission had no investigators of its own. It drew upon the men available in the Executive Branch, chiefly the FBI and Secret Service, who were not employees of the Commission and whose primary responsibilities were to those who did employ them. While there is no suggestion that these agencies were in any way involved in the assassination, they were, nonetheless, subject to Commission criticism and they were, in fact, so criticized. In addition, the Secret Service was directly responsible for the President's welfare and safety, and he was killed while they were protecting him. Besides its normal duty of aiding the Secret Service, the FBI had Oswald under surveillance or investigation at the time the President was killed. He was what might be called an "active" case.

Therefore, both agencies and their employees had personal involvements in the investigation that amounted to conflicts of interest. On one hand was the need for a complete, impartial and exhaustive investigation regardless of where it led and what it showed. On the other, the reputations of the agencies and their employees could have been at stake, for any error, no matter how innocent, could have made the Dallas tragedy possible. This situation was unfair to the agencies, which did not create it, and could have burdened them with impermissible conflicts and temptations, no matter how unconsciously. Further, the Dallas representatives of these agencies had ties of friendship and sometimes long association with the local police and, when the investigation of the assassination was over, faced the need for continuing, day-to-day working associations with them. Contemporarily and historically, it would have been better if the Commission had had its own staff of investigators in the field and had restricted its use of the FBI and Secret Service to technical services.

To a degree, the Commission itself was in a similar position, for it was composed exclusively of men with long government histories. At the time of the Commission's deliberations, only two were not in the government, and they had had long periods of government connections. There may also be questions asked about including anyone with any connections with any intelligence or investigative agency of the government, especially because of the possibility that had to be considered and was, that Oswald might have been a government agent. For instance, Allen Dulles, a member of the Commission, was the former head of the Central Intelligence Agency and the Commission had-to consider the possibility of Oswald's having a connection with the CIA and the FBI. It concluded that he had not. But it would seem that, especially with the history of the Gary Powers U-2 mission in mind, fewer questions might now or in the future be asked about impartiality or divided loyalties had another man with a different history than Dulles been appointed to the Commission.

Also, the Commission was in a position where it had to sit in judgement of the government, at least to the degree that it had to decide whether or not agents of the government had been negligent. Other possible considerations, especially involving foreign powers and interests, occupied the Commission.

The cryptic remark of the Chairman--Chief Justice Warren--at the outset of the hearings itself raises questions. The Washington Post of February 4, 1964, reported: "Warren told reporters that, because of security precautions, some of the testimony might not be released to the public within their lifetimes . . ."

Two days later the Washington Evening Star, February 6, 1964, found the initial statement and another by the Chairman intended to clarify the first "astounding" and "unfortunate." It described Warren's explanatory statement as characterizing the initial statement as "a mixture of facetiousness and fact." Editorially, the Star demanded, "What conceivable kind of 'security' would require this Commission to play the role of censor?"

In this book an attempt is made to analyze the Report itself exclusively on the basis of the Commission's own information. References are to the Commission's printed materials. References to the Report are represented by the letter "R" and the page number. The hearings and exhibits are represented by their official numbers, the letter "H" and the page number within the volumes. No evidence from outside the Commission's official publications is used in this analysis. All of the information in this book is readily and publicly available from the Commission's own publications.

No effort is made to consider each and every question discussed in the Report. By design, a large amount of the Report's 900 pages is not directed at the assassination itself. Other sections are peripheral. And some, I believe, are unworthy of consideration, as, for example, the presumption made by the Report that Oswald was of unsound mind and had special reasons for committing the assassination, such as securing for himself a place in history. The Commission here was its own psychiatrist, and its claims to competence in such a specialized field are at least debatable. But the major aspects of the Report, as they relate to the murders of President Kennedy and Officer Tippit, are analyzed in the light of what the Report does and does not do and say about them and how they were handled by the various police agencies involved.

There are defects in both the Report and the inquiry, but only those that are most directly connected with the crimes are considered. A minor example of the sort of thing that is excluded is the story of the "Radical Right" in Dallas. There was no visible evidence connecting any segment of it to the crimes, although there was unavoidable evidence connecting some of these groups to scurrilous advertising and handbills of that general time. The Commission was empowered to compel the participation of representatives of these groups at its hearings, if the Commission believed they were in any way associated with the crimes or the Commission's functions. It did decide to take a casual look at an ad and a handbill. It called a couple of witnesses. The Report makes slight and passing reference to the information elicited in a manner not reflected in the table of contents. But the man who pulled the strings together, the man who more than any other was responsible for the ad, was never called. The printed exhibits contain a number of his letters in which he clearly portrays himself as a political vulture, feeding on the carcasses of others of similar persuasion. He was not called as a witness. The Report quotes a member of this group as saying the funds for the ad came from four active members of the John Birch Society who are named. One of these men is the son of the Texas oil millionaire, H. L. Hunt, although in the Report he is not so identified. None of these men was called upon to testify. It may be fairly asserted that if the Commission was going into such peripheral matters, it should have done so firmly and positively and not left the record either unclear or unfair. When the Commission did not, should its Report have? Could it rightly print the allegation of another that these four men paid for an ad the Commission deemed necessary of consideration in the context of a monstrous crime without a definitive inquiry, including the sworn statements of at least the men involved?

Another and more serious flaw is the failure of the Report to consider whether there might have been significance in the uninterrupted outpouring of prejudicial and inaccurate political charges, usually traceable to police sources, creating an unwarranted belief that somehow the Soviet Union was involved in the crimes. The Report does destroy this speculation but it fails to address itself to what motives caused what people to launch such a diversion.

Membership on the Commission and employment on its staff were not the kind of affiliations that could yield the additional benefit of career advancement. It was a difficult, time-consuming occupation on which there could be no 40-hour week. It was by its very nature an unpleasant, thank less job, under great strains and pressures. For most of those participating, this employment represented a major sacrifice. However, none of this can or should remove the Commission from public scrutiny of the manner in which they discharged their responsibilities.

The national honor and integrity, history and the memory of the dead President, demand that, to every extent possible, the Report should have ignored no important question. But the murder was possible only because the Report does not adequately do this or if it is in error to any degree whatsoever, then it becomes a necessity for someone to fulfil the Commission's purpose and to rectify

This book is one man's effort to do just that.

A WORD ABOUT INVESTIGATIONS

For the murder of Oswald, there is but one explanation: The police made it possible. Whether this means the police were part of a conspiracy to have him murdered is another question. But the murder was possible only because the police made it possible. The Warren Report gives an entire chapter to the "Detention and Death of Oswald" and it is the only chapter in which the Commission draws no conclusions.

Yet without the murder of Oswald, there would have been no need of a Commission and no Warren Report. There would have been a trial and Oswald would have been convicted or acquitted.

One purpose only was served by Oswald's murder: It forever closed his mouth. With his death, there was no one in custody who could in any way explain any part of the assassination. There were other suspects, including at least one in the hands of the police, but with Oswald's apprehension interest in all other suspects ended. There were obvious ways in which Oswald could have helped solve the crime. He could have been the assassin or an associate of the assassin, or he could have proved he was not. The dead Oswald could do none of these things.

After his murder, the crime of the assassination itself could no longer be subject to the normal and admirable processes of American justice, which provide for a fair, public, and regulated threshing-out of all the facts and issues. There remained but one possibility, an investigation. Congress had the right to conduct such an inquiry, and the President had the power to create a special commission for this purpose. Politics had already been injected into the assassination by public charges that the so-called "radical right" and "hate groups" were in some manner involved. With the widely held belief that one likely presidential candidate might be connected with such groups, there was a clear danger that the investigations of the assassination could have had political overtones. Hence, no criticism can be made of either the Executive or the Legislative branch of the government for deciding to create a special commission.

Harry Truman would not have been President and Richard Nixon would not have been Vice President had it not been for Congressional investigations. Nor might Hugo Black now be sitting on the Supreme Court. All were prominent in well publicized inquiries. Dozens of judges and politicians may owe their subsequent careers to earlier associations with Congressional committees. Investigations are a necessary function of the government's Legislative branch; they are vital to a thriving and growing democratic system and to the progress of the country.

Investigations and hearings are not limited to the Legislative branch. A number of Executive agencies have the power, need and right to hold such inquiries. Without this right, they could not fulfil their essential responsibilities. The range of this type of inquiry is almost limitless, for by necessity almost the entire activity of government is involved.

There are also special investigations, of which the so called "Pearl Harbor" investigation was one. The President's Commission on the Assassination of President John F. Kennedy was of this kind. As the Pearl Harbor investigation had the responsibility of assessing and reporting on what happened on that "day that will long live in infamy," so did the President's Commission have the duty of inquiring into and reporting upon the tragic events in Dallas, Texas, on November 22, 1963.

Special investigations such as the Warren Commission (as it came to be called) conducted are established and empowered by Executive order and Legislative authorization. Commissions conducting these investigations have the power of subpoena by which they can compel attendance and the production of records. They have the power to administer oaths and may, in the case of perjury or false swearing about material points, recommend or demand prosecution. Their inquiry must be limited to what is pertinent -- they may not properly conduct witch-hunts -- and they have no prosecutory functions. They cannot punish, although they may both properly and improperly place witnesses and others in an unfavorable light. Hearings may be public or private, in the discretion of the commission, and there are substantial reasons for both varieties of hearings, such as security, or the protection of the people testifying or about whom testimony is given.

But these investigations are not legal processes in the sense that those of a court are. The investigating body does not have the powers of a court. When the investigation needs the protection or assistance of the judicial branch, it must seek the help of the proper courts.

Conversely, the witnesses and those investigated do not have the rights they would enjoy in court. There is no judge who, at least in theory, is impartial. Those investigated may be represented by counsel of their own choice, but invariably counsel is severely handicapped. Counsel may not cross-examine, may not offer evidence on the other side, and cannot invoke the protection of many laws that through the years have protected the accused in legal proceedings. Often counsel are restricted merely to giving advice to their clients. Whatever they may do additionally is possible only because the investigating body chooses to grant additional rights and privileges.

The real work of the investigations is rarely performed by the members of the commission or committee. Even when actual questions are asked by the members of the investigating body only, preparation is by its staff. The members are almost invariably men already too busy. A diligent Congressman or Senator can scarcely find the time to do a minimum of what he considers he must and what his constituents expect of him. In the most thorough investigations, the preparatory staff work represents a tremendous effort.

The staffs are selected with great care. Aside from political considerations, ability and reputation frequently provide the basis of selection. Some are famous lawyers or promising younger lawyers. Some are accountants, economists, or other professionals. Some are closer to the popular concept of investigators. The needs and qualifications vary with the investigation.

However, the complexities of the subject, the exhaustiveness with which it is looked into, the sheer volume of documentation, when added to the unavoidable obligations of the legislators, can render the commission or committee members to a large degree the creatures, almost the puppets, of their staffs. lt is the staff that pores over the gathered records and research and figures out the angles and approaches. Members of the commission or committee decide and lay down broad policy and can (and usually do) decide the topics to be covered or not covered. Otherwise, the work is staff work, although the responsibility is that of the members of the commission or committee.

It is a simple matter for a staff, with the assent of the commission or committee, to build up a voluminous record. Minor and peripheral aspects can be pursued for limitless thousands of pages and hundreds of thousands of words. The taking of expert testimony especially lends itself to such treatment. An expert on ballistics can spend hours recounting his own background and experience in order to accredit himself as a real expert. Then he can deliver lengthy technical dissertations on the science of ballistics, following which he can devote almost limitless time to questions of trajectory and velocity, to physical and chemical analysis, to probabilities and possibilities, and all of it may be either irrelevant or unnecessary. But at least it is impressive. It impresses the members, the press and the public. It lends an aura of scientific precision and authenticity to what may not be at all authentic. Unless the weapon and the projectile are known without question, no amount of science can add meaning to testimony. It must relate. The same is true of general witnesses. They can be led into lengthy, interesting and precise expositions, but unless they are talking about a definite thing to the exclusion of all else, their testimony means nothing and adds nothing to the record. It also is impressive, especially if the witness is imposing or colorful or speaks with seeming authority.

It was to be expected that the President's Commission on the Assassination of President John F. Kennedy would necessarily have to lean heavily upon its staff. Almost without exception, the Commission was comprised of men already too deeply committed to public, official, and governmental activity. The most superficial examination of the volumes of testimony shows Commission members not attending hearings, or coming late because of other commitments, or leaving early to meet other responsibilities. The Chief Justice could not delegate his judicial role any more than the Congressmen and Senators could have someone else vote for them. Hence, when they had to be in more than one place at the same time, the easiest place for them not to be was at the Commission's hearings. Here they could and did delegate to the staff. From the very beginning the staff did almost all the work, including the interrogations. One published account of the Commission's work reports one member as attending only two of 44 hearings. Members conducted a minor part of the interrogations at the hearings, leaving the bulk of such questioning to staff lawyers. Only a very small percentage of the hearings was attended by any members. Most hearings had no members present.

The actual investigations in the field were performed for the Commission by experienced government agencies such as the FBI and Secret Service.

Information was collected in four different ways: Un-sworn statements; affidavits, or sworn statements; depositions; and testimony before the Commission. In the testimony and depositions, the form of the proceedings was the asking and answering of questions under oath with a stenographic record being made. Affidavits and statements differ from each other in that an affidavit is sworn to. Both are unilateral declarations in which the persons says only what he wants to or has been asked to say. Of the 552 people from whom recorded information was gathered, two gave statements, 61 supplied affidavits, 395 were questioned in depositions, and only 94 appeared before the Commission, meaning with one or more members present by not meaning the entire Commission or even a majority. The Report refers to all methods by the same designation: Testimony (Rxiii).

When the magnitude of the task undertaken by the Commission is measured in terms of only the printed record and the Report, the effort represented is almost astronomical to the average person. There was a total of 27 printed volumes, ranging in size from under 500 pages to

almost 1000 pages. Where documents were printed in facsimile, frequently they were reduced in size so that one printed page contained two typewritten pages side by side.

It is asking too much to believe the members of the Commission could possibly have read even an appreciable portion of this tremendous mass of printed words, millions upon millions of them. Even the reading of the depositions taken by the staff outside of Washington, the manner in which most information was gathered, represented a great burden for men so deeply committed in the public's service.

The Commission had no alternatives. The staff did most of the work.

If the end product as represented in the Report is good, most of the credit should be theirs. They labored mightily.

The coin has two sides.

PRESIDENTS COMMISSION

ON THE

ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT KENNEDY

____________________

Chief Justice Earl Warren, Chairman

Senator Richard B. Russell	Representative Gerald R. Ford

Senator John Sherman Cooper	Allen W. Dulles

Representative Hale Boggs	Mr. John J. McCloy

J. Lee Rankin, General Counsel

Assistant Counsel

Francis W. H. Adams	Albert E. Jenner, Jr.

Joseph A. Ball	Wesley J. Liebler

David W. Belin	Norman Redlich

William T. Coleman, Jr.	W. David Slawson

Melvin Aron Eisenberg	Arlen Specter

Burt W. Griffin	Samuel A. Stern

Leon D. Hubert, Jr.	Howard P. Willens*

Staff Members

Phillip Barson	Richard M. Mosk

Edward A. Conroy	John J. OBrien

John Hart Ely	Stuart Pollak

Alfred Goldberg	Alfredda Scobey

Murray J. Laulicht	Charles N. Shaffer, Jr.

Arthur Marmor	Lloyd L. Weinreb

* Mr. Willens also acted as liaison between the Commission and the Department of Justice.

1. DEATH IN DALLAS

The last day in the life of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, November 22, 1963, began with oppressive rain in Fort Worth, Texas. The young President, who had lived through dangerous illness, major surgery, and other hazards of an active life, who had survived the cutting in half of the torpedo boat he commanded during World War II by a Japanese destroyer, was to be murdered before lunch, in an ambush in Dallas, a short distance away.

For the Secret Service escort who dedicate themselves to the safety of the President, this day began with nine of them engaged in a post-midnight diversion, including moderate drinking, in clear violation of regulations. Although discipline was mandatory under the regulations, the Secret Service decided punishment would stigmatize these men for life. The men went unpunished, a decision with which the Commission found no fault (R450-1).

In suburban Irving, 15 miles from Dallas, one of the least important men in the country, an almost friendless fellow, frequently unemployed and a political deviationist, overslept his rendezvous with destiny. Lee Harvey Oswald, a "defected defector" to the Soviet Union, was still asleep ten minutes after his alarm went off. He was roused by his Russian wife and rushed off to meet his ride to the Texas School Book Depository at Elm and Houston Streets, in Dallas, where he was a minor clerk. Before the day was over, he was to be the most notorious man in the world, charged with the assassination of the popular young President and the murder of a Dallas policeman, J. D. Tippit.

The rain ended and the sun broke through in Dallas just before the arrival of the Presidential party at Love Field. The President desired the removal of the protective plastic "bubble top" from his limousine. He also ordered that no Secret Service agents ride the steps on the rear bumper. Going to Dallas had been considered a dangerous challenge by his advisors (R40-1). Only a month earlier, Ambassador to the United Nations Adlai Stevenson had been struck with a picketer's sign and spat upon. But President Kennedy wanted -- and got -- full exposure to the people. On the ride into town, he disconcerted his protectors by ordering the halting of the motorcade in response to a previously printed request by some of the crowd that he stop with them for a moment (R46).

The motorcade was led by a pilot car, well in advance of the main party. Then came a "lead" car, in which were the Dallas Chief of Police, Jesse E. Curry, the Sheriff, J. E. "Bill" Decker, and the Secret Service's advance agent who had made the plans, Winston G. Lawson, together with Dallas Agent Forrest V. Sorrels (4H161). Behind the advance cars were the President and his escort car, followed by the then Vice President and his escort. The mayor was in the fifth car and the first news vehicle was in sixth position. This car contained still and TV photographers, one with an inoperative camera. Later some of the photographers were to complain that the Presidential car was never in clear view on the trip (6H163). In one of those tricks of fate which later assume importance, this motorcade had no photographic car in the lead, no cameras trained on the President from the front or otherwise close and with him in constant focus. Many of the streets were narrow, and along some of the route the crowds were so thick the motorcycle police flanking the Presidential car had to fall back to avoid injuring spectators. The President had also ordered these flankers to avoid riding directly opposite him. This unnecessary risk was one of the series of unusual events in the impending "crime of the century."

Contrary to expectations, there were no hostile demonstrations. The crowds were both thick and friendly. As the motorcade approached Dealey Plaza from the east, traveling on Main Street, it was behind schedule.

Dealey Plaza is an almost pear-shaped, landscaped grassy area, the point of which funnels under three bridges, a location known locally as "The Triple Underpass." At the opposite or eastern end, the border is Houston Street. Main Street, on which the motorcade was approaching, cuts the Plaza in half lengthwise. On the south is Commerce Street and on the north is Elm. Commerce was for one-way traffic east, Elm for one-way traffic west. The angle of the turn from Houston into Elm is about 135 degrees. Elm Street then curves gracefully and at a slightly downward grade to a junction with Main and Commerce Streets at the Triple Underpass. At the corner of Houston, there is a short, parallel street also called Elm, at right-angles to Houston. Standing on that corner is the old seven-story building of the Texas School Book Depository.

The assassination occurred at an undetermined point immediately after the Presidential car turned into Elm at about 12:30 p.m. Riding with the President and Mrs. Kennedy were Governor and Mrs. John B. Connally. Driving the car was Secret Service Agent William R. Greer. Also in the front seat and in charge was Roy H. Kellerman, an experienced and painstakingly careful veteran. Behind Kellerman on the jump seat was the Governor; behind Greer, Mrs. Connally. Mrs. Kennedy was in the rear seat behind Mrs. Connally, resplendent in a pink outfit and holding a bouquet of roses. The President was on her right.

Kellerman, since promoted, was then "Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the White House Detail and the Secret Service official responsible for the entire Texas journey" (R29).

As the motorcade approached its tryst with fate, it passed the building housing the Dallas County Sheriff's office, at Houston and Main. A number of unassigned deputies were lounging in the sun, watching the procession. As the car turned into Elm street, Mrs. Connally could no longer restrain her exuberance and pride as a Texan that the feared demonstrations had not materialized and that the greeting to the President had been warm and friendly. As she told the

Commission:

"Mrs. Connally . . . I could resist no longer. When we got past this area I did turn to the President and said, 'Mr. President, you can't say Dallas doesn't love you.' Then I don't know how soon, it seems to me it was very soon, that I heard a noise, and not being an expert rifleman, I was not aware that it was a rifle. It was just a frightening noise, and it came from the right. I turned over my right shoulder and looked back, and saw the President as he had both hands at his neck.

(Arlen Specter, Assistant Counsel). And you are indicating with your own hands, two hands crossing over gripping your own neck?

Mrs. Connally. Yes; and it seemed to me there was -- he made no utterance, no cry. I saw no blood, no anything. It was just sort of nothing, the expression on his face, and he just sort of slumped down. Then very soon there was the second shot that hit John. As the first shot was hit, and I turned to look at the same time, I recall John saying, 'Oh, no, no, no.' Then there was a second shot, and it hit John, and as he recoiled to the right, just crumpled like a wounded animal to the right, he said, 'My God, they are going to kill us all.' I never again --

(Allen W. Dulles, Commission Member). To the right was into your arms more or less?

Mrs. Connally. No, he turned away from me. I was pretending that I was him. I never again looked in the back seat of the car after my husband was shot. My concern was for him, and I remember that he turned to the right and then just slumped down into the seat, so that I reached over to pull him toward me. I was trying to get him down and me down. The jump seats were not very roomy, so that there (were) reports that he slid into the seat of the car, which he did not; that he fell over into my lap, which he did not. I just pulled him over into my arms because it would have been impossible to get us really both down with me sitting and me holding him. So that I looked out, I mean as he was in my arms, I put my head down over his head so that his head and my head were right together, and all I could see, too, were the people flashing by. I didn't look back any more.

The third shot that I heard I felt, it felt like spent buckshot falling all over us, and then, of course, I too could see that it was the matter, brain tissue, or whatever, just human matter, all over the car and both of us. I thought John had been killed, and then there was some imperceptible movement, just some little something that let me know that there was still some life, and that is when I started saying to him, 'It's all right. Be still.'" (4H147)

Kellerman's subsequent account to the Commission was dramatic:

"Mr. Kellerman. As we turned north on to Houston	Street, this was primarily the end of the crowd in Dallas, Tex.; in the downtown section, there were still a few on the sidewalk until we got to Elm Street. As we turned in a northerly direction to Elm Street, which would be on our left, then the crowds just diminished. They were spotty, standing on the grassy plot. They were not on the side of the street. In fact, there were just a matter of a handful, that was all, and we were through it.

. . . . .

As we turned off Houston onto Elm and made the short little dip to the left going down grade, as I said, we were away from buildings, and were -- there was a sign on the side of the road which I don't recall what it was or what it said, but we no more than passed that and you are out in the open, and there is a report like a firecracker, pop. And I turned my head to the right because whatever this noise was I was sure that it came from the right and perhaps into the rear, and as I turned my head to the right to view whatever it was to see whatever it was, I heard a voice from the back seat and I firmly believe it was the President's, 'My God, I am hit,' and I turned around and he has got his hands up here like this.

Mr. Specter. Indicating right hand up toward his neck?

Mr. Kellerman. That is right, sir. In fact, both hands were up in that direction.

(Senator John Sherman Cooper, Commission Member). Which side of his neck?

Mr. Kellerman. Beg pardon?

Senator Cooper. Which side of his neck?

Mr. Kellerman. Both hands were up, sir; this one is like this here and here we are with the hands --

Mr. Specter. Indicating the left hand is up above the head.

Mr. Kellerman. In the collar section.

Mr. Specter. As you are positioning yourself in the witness chair, your right hand is up with the finger at the ear level as if clutching from the right of the head; would that be an accurate description of the position you pictured there?

Mr. Kellerman. Yes. Good. There was enough for me to verify that the man was hit. So, in the same motion, I come right back and grabbed the speaker and said to the driver, 'Let's get out of here; we are hit,' and grabbed the mike and I said, 'Lawson, this is Kellerman,' -- this is Lawson, who is in the front car. 'We are hit; get us to the hospital immediately.' Now, in the seconds that I talked just now, a flurry of shells come into the car. I then looked back and this time Mr. Hill, who was riding on the left front bumper of our follow-up car, was on the back trunk of that car; the President was sideways down into the back seat." (2H73-4)

By far the most persuasive and precise testimony about these sad events came from the

Governor, an observant man with military experience and a practiced hunter:

"Governor Connally . . . We had just made the turn, well, when I heard what I thought was a shot I heard this noise which I immediately took to be a rifle shot. I instinctively turned to my right because the sound appeared to come from over my right shoulder, so I turned to look back over my right shoulder, and I saw nothing unusual except just people in the crowd, but I did not catch the President in the corner of my eye, and I was interested, because once I heard the shot in my own mind I identified it as a rifle shot, and I immediately -- the only thought that crossed my mind was that this is an assassination attempt. So I looked, failing to see him, I was turning to look back over my left shoulder into the back seat, but I never got that far in my turn. I got about in the position I am in now facing you, looking a little bit to the left of center, and then I felt like someone had hit me in the back.

Mr. Specter. What is the best estimate that you have as to the time span between the sound of the first shot and the feeling of someone hitting you in the back which you just described?

Governor Connally. A very, very brief span of time. Again my trend of thought just happened to me, I suppose along this line, I immediately thought that this -- that I had been shot. I knew it when I just looked down and I was covered with blood and the thought immediately passed through my mind that there were either two or three people involved or more in this or someone was shooting with an automatic rifle. These were just thoughts that went through my mind because of the rapidity of these two, of the first shot plus the blow that I took, and I knew I had been hit, and I immediately assumed, because of the amount of blood, and, in fact, that it had obviously passed through my chest, that I had probably been fatally hit. So I merely doubled up, and then turned to my right again and began to -- I just sat there, and Mrs. Connally pulled me over to her lap. She was sitting, of course, on the jump seat, so I reclined with my head in her lap, conscious all the time, and with my eyes open; and then, of course, the third shot sounded, and I heard the shot very clearly. I heard it hit him. I heard the shot hit something, and I assumed again -- it never entered my mind that it ever hit anybody but the President. I heard it hit. It was a very loud noise, just that audible, that clear.

Immediately I could see on my clothes, my clothing, I could see on the interior of the car which, as I recall, was a pale blue, brain tissue, which I immediately recognized, and I recall very well, on my trousers there was one chunk of brain tissue as big as almost my thumb, thumbnail, and again I did not see the President at any time either after the first, second, or third shots, but I assumed always that it was he who was hit and no one else. I immediately, when I was hit, I said, 'Oh, no, no, no.' And then I said, 'My God, they are going to kill us all.' Nellie, when she pulled me over into her lap --

Mr. Specter. Nellie is Mrs. Connally?

Governor Connally. Mrs. Connally. When she pulled me over into her lap, she could tell I was still breathing, and moving, and she said, 'Don't worry. Be quiet. You are going to be all right.' She just kept telling me I was going to be all right. After the third shot, and I heard Roy Kellerman tell the driver, 'Bill, get out of line.' And then I saw him move, and I assumed he was moving a button or something on the panel of the automobile, and he said, 'Get us to a hospital quick.'	I assumed he was saying this to the patrolman, the motorcycle police who were leading us. At about that time, we began to pull out of the cavalcade, out of the line, and I lost consciousness and didn't regain consciousness until we got to the hospital." (4H132-3)

The Commission elected not to believe the testimony of the Connallys, even though it was supported by an amateur 8-mm. movie taken of the assassination by Abraham Zapruder. On this film the Connallys were able to point out the exact sequence, the precise frames of the film showing the Governor receiving his wounds. Doctors originally agreed with the Connallys (4H114, 128).

The Commission subsequently concluded that all the shots came from the northeastern most window of the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository Building to the exclusion of any and all other places. It concluded also that Lee Harvey Oswald had fired them all with an inexpensive, bolt-action Italian World War II surplus rifle within a span of from 4.8 to 7.9 seconds (R117). And it said he had earlier purchased this weapon under the alias "Hidell," establishing that Oswald was Hidell by forged identifications in his possession when arrested and by handwriting comparisons of Oswald's writing with that on the order form. The rifle was mailed to a post office box Oswald had rented (R174).

But as the motorcade sped toward Parkland Hospital, there was no doubt in the minds of the police chief and the sheriff about what had happened. They also had strong opinions about the source of the shots. Curry grabbed the microphone of his police radio and ordered, "Get someone up in the railroad yard and check those people." (4H161) The railroad yard was near the Triple Underpass and to the west of the Book Depository. Sheriff Decker then radioed instructions that the spontaneous action of his men rendered unnecessary: "Stand by men! All units and officers vicinity of station report to the railroad track area, just north of Elm -- Report to the railroad track area, just north of Elm." (R665)

At the alerted hospital, hasty preparations were being made. Doctors were paged from their lunches, nurses were mobilized, and stretchers were being rolled out to the emergency entrance as the motorcade arrived. The Governor was first removed and wheeled into one emergency room, unblocking access to the President, who was then rushed into an adjoining emergency room. The emergency procedures on the President were of no avail. The doctors tried desperately, performing operations, using drugs, administering blood and using all their many skills. But none had any doubt: The President was irreversibly dead at the time of his arrival at the hospital. The time of death was subsequently fixed at 1 p.m. He had lost a major portion of the top of his head, with massive damage to the brain. He had also sustained what the doctors believed would have been a non-fatal wound that in subsequent Commission hearings became a major question because of its tremendous importance in the reconstruction of the crime. The doctors believed it entered his neck just below the thorax. Lengthy discussions, speculations and hypotheses about these wounds occur throughout the Report and the hearings. The Governor's injuries were soon determined to be less serious, and he was removed to an operating room where three separate and distinct operations were performed by different doctors. The Governor had a wound through his right chest, with large openings on both walls, his right wrist was shattered, and he had a wound in his left thigh, slightly above the knee.

Meanwhile, back at the Depository, as the Report later reconstructed events (R156-180), at 12:33 Lee Harvey Oswald, soon to be labeled the assassin, left the Book Depository Building, walked seven blocks east through the milling crowd in seven minutes, and took a bus that would return him to the west, toward the scene of the crime. The bus was blocked by traffic jams caused by the assassination, and in a few minutes Oswald left it and walked to the nearby Greyhound bus station. Here he took a cab toward his rooming house at 1026 North Beckley Street in the Oak Cliff section of Dallas. There was some confusion in the cabdriver's account about the point at which Oswald left the cab. It was either the 500 or the 700 block of this street. Oswald walked the rest of the way, arriving at about 1 p.m. and leaving about three minutes later. He then, according to the Report, walked to Tenth and Patton Streets where he was stopped by Officer J. D. Tippit in Dallas Police Car No. 10, Radio Call No. 78. In one of the most amazing actions in all police annals, Tippit, having stopped Oswald because he suspected him of being the dangerous criminal who murdered the President, had a casual conversation with him. Neither prior to nor during this conversation had Tippit drawn his weapon. After a brief "calm" conversation, Tippit emerged from his car in a leisurely manner and was walking toward the front of it when he was shot and killed. The killer then returned to the corner of Tenth and Patton at a relatively unhurried pace, carefully dropping four empty cartridge cases at different points and in the clear view of a number of witnesses. He turned left, continuing to fumble with his pistol, and at the next corner turned right into Jefferson Street, where he soon discarded a jacket he was wearing, although nobody saw him do it. Not one of the number of witnesses who reported all this, followed him. At the scene of the murder, Domingo Benavides, a mechanic who had been almost directly across the street from the murder, hiding in his truck, ran to the police car after the killer had disappeared around the corner and notified the police by radio. This was about 1:16 p.m. A little before 1:50 p.m., Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested by a large number of police at the Texas Theatre about six blocks away and taken to police headquarters, where he arrived about 2 o'clock.

Oswald, in turn, was murdered less than two days later while in the custody of the police, augmented when required by the large staff of the sheriff's office, and with an undisclosed number of Secret Service and FBI men in the area. His unnecessary removal from one jail to another was being guarded by about 70 policemen who feared a threatened attack by an organized mob of a hundred men. Almost all the police were watching themselves and perhaps 40 newsmen. One lone policeman, who saw nothing wrong with leaving his post, was stationed at the only unblocked entrance to the area in which Oswald was murdered. At precisely the right instant, Jack Ruby, a police character with a history of violence and gangland connections, walked through this door and down to the point to which Oswald was being led, handcuffed but with no frontal protection. The police car in which the transfer was to have been made was not in the position it was supposed to have been in. With one shot, Ruby killed Oswald. The damage from that one bullet to Oswald's vital organs was so massive that he could not have survived.

In its Report, after taking millions of words of testimony and examining thousands of exhibits, totaling 26 large printed volumes, the Commission concluded that Oswald alone was the murderer of both President Kennedy and Officer Tippit, that he was unassisted, that there was no conspiracy of any kind or size -- and that Ruby also was without assistance.

Never in history have such crimes been "solved" by such a consistent disregard for truth, honesty and credibility, with so much avoidance of the obvious and such dependence upon the incredible and palpably undependable, with such a prostitution of science, and with so much help from misrepresentation and perjury. This is what this book will show.