THE MEETING
He sat next to me
Ironically on my left,
And in the time I struggled to see
Any sign or inkling he was bereft.
Instead I saw a human shell
A worn physical mode
Transitioned from some personal hell
Embodying only a daemonic lode.
My lamenting thought brought despair
What he produced there was no doubt
He sits in our own cultural chair
Embracing values his master touts.
Evil incarnate, the seeds reveal,
A tortured soul returned to suffer,
Agrees to perform the devil’s deal
Behind the curtains, a lifelong buffer.
We speak again from time to time
A dialogue, my only goal,
No doubt for me, about the crime,
No doubt left now about his role.
And then one night, old Nate phoned
He said he jumped into Strausser’s cab,
Laid out a threat—the driver groaned,
So long ago he said, no tab.
King was a shit-starter and had to die
Any good cop would have done the same,
Eyes wide and rolling, he gave a sign,
Leaving no doubt he was on the game.
I arrived in Memphis on October 22, 2013, the day before I planned to meet with Strausser.
I met with some friends and colleagues, including British documentary maker John Edginton, whose interest in the case dates backs to the first BBC documentary in 1989. Due to the shortage of funds for his follow-up work, I agreed to do an interview with a California documentary group that agreed to pay for the expenses, along with a small fee, for their production.
The day before the scheduled meeting I was able to meet the “case comrades” and plan for the meeting. These professionals are legally and in writing bound to the Attorney Work Product Confidentiality of my office, so it is clear that they are familiar with all of the evidence and information I possess. Should anything happen to me, they are instructed to widely distribute the evidence I uncovered concerning the assassination and the assassin himself, upon whom I have decided to impose the Biblical “mark of Cain.”
For the unfamiliar, when Cain slew Abel, the Old Testament of God proclaimed that Cain should be marked, and that mark should protect him against any retributive violence being taken against him. The “mark of Cain” was the God’s way of saying that violence begets and perpetuates violence, and this must be avoided.
Permit a digression.
We live and have been weaned and raised in a capitalistic, materialistic, consumerist-focused society. As I grew, I learned the strict code: if someone punches you, you punch back, and if you do not, you are a “pussy” and less of a man.
Gradually, I became uncomfortable with this Irish Bar mentality and with no small struggle freed myself from this essential Irish characteristic of masculinity.
It took me a long time to appreciate that the hunger strikes at the Maize Prison were more appropriate than the bomb thrown at Enniskillen.
Having revealed this process, this is the baggage I bring to the execution of our contemporary prophet, Martin Luther King Jr.
It was in this context, historical awareness and sense of urgency that I finally decided to set up a luncheon meeting with the shooter whom I had met; face-to-face in his apartment building some years ago. After the meeting, a few sporadic attempts to meet had been unsuccessful for a variety of reasons.
Now, from more recent conversations, he seemed willing to meet. His current “day job” made a $500 fee for a chat much more acceptable.
By way of background, from specific sources, including a former MPD officer who had ridden with my interview/lunch guest, I learned that after the assassination he had been involved in some bizarre behavior—ranging from running prostitutes from the squad car, shooting a fleeing purse snatcher, shooting up one black bar in an effort to get information, and threatening to blow the ass off Holloman, the Director of Police and Fire, if he persisted in trying to coerce him off the force.
I also learned that he obtained a position “through connections” as a bodyguard to a famous black female singer, and even traveled with her. During this post-assassination period of time, he apparently came into some serious money, but also became involved with cocaine.
At around 5:00 p.m., on October 22, 2013, I excused myself from the group and went to call him. It was an amicable chat as I said I was calling to confirm a lunch at which I was going to pay him $500 to talk with me about history. We agreed to meet for lunch at around 2:00 p.m. at the Cappricio Restaurant in the Peabody Hotel. The film company had put me up there under the name of John Book, at my insistence. I would learn later from a mutual street acquaintance that an FBI contact was trying to locate where I was staying. Now, why would they be doing that? It appears that the “we” included a member of his family who was a government agent.
Even to this day in Memphis, a $50 bill will eliminate an undesirable target.
At 2:00 p.m., I chose a corner table that overlooked the large lobby, famous for a fountain that the hotel’s ducks marched to and from each day, to the delight of young and old tourists.
He arrived within a few minutes, wearing sunglasses and dressed all in black with white sneakers. Upon seeing him, I confess to having a rush of confused emotions. It had been so many years since Dr. King had been taken from us, and yet, in some ways, it was as though it had just happened. Watching this man walk slowly over to the table, I felt a mixture of subdued anger and positive expectations.
After all this time, I was now able to sit down with him, look him in the eye, and, though he would not expect it, tell him that he had been named as the killer of Martin Luther King Jr., an act that had forever altered American history. It would be unlikely that he would fully understand the ramifications of his act, nor was it likely he would care.
But all of this was churning inside me
We greeted each other in a friendly manner, and I passed to him the envelop with the meeting fee. With the formality dispensed with, we began to converse. Attached, as Appendix H, is the verbatim transcription of the entire conversation. He would not eat, saying that he only ate late in the day, which was not very convincing. I glossed over this discourtesy and we conversed for the next hour on his recollections of the times, including his being decorated with a Medal of Commendation at the MPD roll call one morning by the army. He had joined the MPD after getting out of the army in 1967, completing the training program, and then was assigned at a South Memphis beat where, I would subsequently learn, he developed a reputation for beating up blacks.
Though stooped and slow moving, he seemed alert. He clearly had some health issues and exhibited some discomfort, but our conversation was amicable enough.
He described the police force that he had joined, after the Academy training course in 1967 (from September to December,) as being an all-white force. He said it changed drastically five years later.
He was hired by Chief J. C. MacDonald, who was superseded by Frank Holloman, the former FBI agent who became director of both the police and fire departments. MacDonald was near retirement at the time of the assassination and Holloman relied upon him during this period.
He insisted that the police were just doing their job with the demonstrations related to the sanitation workers strike. After the assassination, he said, “in the last thirty years,” Memphis has evolved into a racially charged city. This was not the case before the sanitation workers strike.
He knew the Invaders and described them as a local militant group with an agenda. He said they were being watched and monitored and members went to jail. They had been broken by the early 1970s and no longer exist. When I raised Marrell McCullough, he immediately wanted to know if I had spoken to him. He said he knew him, remembering him as being “very bright, very smart, and very savvy.” He recalled attending one meeting with McCullough when he was undercover. He did not think that McCullough was a native of Memphis. He volunteered that I could use his name if I would give any “leverage” to have a meeting with McCullough.
He said he had been in Vietnam and got hurt, which resulted in his 70 percent disability. A local congressman, Steve Cohen, helped him to obtain treatment. The injury took place in 1966, when, coincidentally, I was also in Vietnam. It seems we both arrived in the spring of 1966.
He commented that his younger brother had been killed there. When I raised the fact that he was given a medal for his service at a Memphis police roll call one morning in 1968, he acknowledged that it was the Army Commendation Medal for Valor and a Purple Heart, and that it had been good PR for them.
He said when he came out, he joined the MPD, went into a squad car, then the detective bureau for a while, before ending up in the Tact Unit. His time in the squad car was in the area between Third Street and the river, and Crump and South Parkway. He said, “that area hasn’t changed that much.”
When I asked him if he remembered where he was on the date of the assassination, he said, “Oh yeah, I was at home. I forget what time. I forget what time he got killed.” When I informed him that the killing took place about 6 p.m., he said, “Because I was—I think I was working seven to seven, so I was on the way to work.” He went on, “It had to be seven that night because I heard on the radio that he had been assassinated. I was on my way to the precincts down at the headquarters to go to work … so it happened to be probably six-thirty or so but I heard on the radio…. I remember hearing it on the radio.” (See Appendix H.)
When asked if he knew Loyd Jowers, he said he did, but did not know if he ever actually met him, although by remarkable coincidence, years later he drove a cab for Veterans Cab Company, which Jowers owned.
He went on to say “… I’ll say this: I have a profound belief in this—that James Earl Ray could not logistically put all this together … now, where it goes from there, Bill, I don’t know.” Later he would state that there was no motive for this small-time petty criminal to kill Dr. King.
He went on to deny that he knew Frank Liberto but admitted knowing of him.
The conversation turned to a consideration of how Memphis dramatically changed after the assassination, and changed forever. In particular, the relations between blacks and whites have never been the same.
He denied knowing the Adkins family or Russell Adkins, but went on to say that he had some involvement with Dixie Mafia and Mafia types. He particularly mentioned a man from Dallas who he befriended, whose name he believed was Pete Caracas (phonic spelling)
I gave him the history of the civil trial. He claimed not to have been aware of it. I advised him that Jowers was dead and that we knew of his role in taking the rifle from the shooter and bringing it inside his kitchen. He asked, “Jowers had the rifle?”
I said, “He did, and before he died he named you as the assassin.”
He was taken aback and stunned. Staring wide-eyed straight ahead, his response was, “He said that?”
I acknowledged that Jowers was a big-time liar so anything he said was questionable, but I added, “But, he did name you.”
I went on to say for a long time I focused on Earl Clark, who was a great shooter. He confirmed that assessment—“Oh yes.”
I then offered him a business proposal; in exchange for everything he knew, I would offer him more. He went on, “Needless to say, I know Jowers, but I didn’t deal with him that much. I think Danny bought the cab company from Jowers.” When I mentioned Clark going down over the wall he said he was not “agile” enough, and then said he was not sure to which wall I was referring.
I described what we believe was the path the shooter had taken, based on the size 13 footprints left behind. When I inquired about his shoe size, he looked me in the eye with a slight grin and said, “Thirteen-large here.”
He went on to say, “I am a dead shot. I was then. I certainly am not now but don’t have any idea why Jowers would do that.”
I said, “I understand, and reiterated my offer to make it very profitable for him if he would help me learn as much as possible.
He went to say, “If I could be—if I could be helpful down the road in any way, shape, or form or fashion, I feel comfortable enough to call you.”
We went through the scenario again with him still saying he was not involved, and would not be involved in politics, and could not understand why Loyd would have implicated him.
I gave him some private numbers to contact me. He said, “I’m sort of taken aback by what you first told me…. I have your number. Maybe we’ll talk again…. I’ll be in touch. Thank you. Have a great day.”
We spoke off and on over the next several months. He probably took advice from a nephew who works for one of the federal agencies, and possibly came to believe that I could not muster enough funds for him to take this on.
Meanwhile, my old friend and “on the ground operative,” Nate Whitlock kept in touch with him and with me. A critical conversation took place. (See Appendix G.)
On Friday/Saturday, April 11 and 12, 2014, another shoe dropped. Nate Whitlock called. He had learned that Strausser had returned to work and was picking up passengers downtown. On the spur of the moment earlier that day, Nate had gone to the taxi stand where he was waiting for passengers. Without saying a word, Nate opened the door and got into the back seat of the cab.
He said that at first, Strausser thought he had a passenger; then Nate began to raise the issue by saying, “You know Joe Brown is running for DA and if he wins he is going to reopen the King assassination and indict you.”
Nate said he opened his eyes wide and exclaimed, “Why would I be indicted for something I did thirty years ago—or something I knew about?” He was clearly disturbed.
Nate said, “Look Frank, you’ve been a friend of mine for thirty years but you’ve got a problem. The Jowers deathbed confession names you. You remember Byron De La Beckwith who they got after all those years for the murder of Medgar Evers?”
Q. (I elaborated on what I wanted Nate to do) Okay. But what I wanted to talk to you about was the help you’ve been in facilitating Frank Strausser’s situation. You have known him for a number of years, haven’t you?
A. Yeah.
Q. I had—
A. A lot of years.
Q. Yeah, a lot of years. I had, as you know, I had a session with him, oh, quite some time ago, but better that—
A. Yeah, you went out to dinner with him.
Q. Sorry?
A. You went to dinner with him.
Q. That’s right. We had lunch. But after that you were very successful in a sense that you—I think this is back now in 2014 (sic) back in May of 2014, in fact, the notes you gave to me was on May 21st, 2014, you decided that you were going to talk to him, and you went—
A. I talked to him.
Q. Yeah, you talked to him. You went to his—you went to his car, and you got in the backseat, didn’t you?
A. Yeah. I sure did.
Q. And this is in front of the Westin Hotel in the morning. The note I had from you said 10:30 the morning that you went in the back seat. What happened with that conversation? You began to talk to him about this whole thing, and you know, do you recall what he said to you and what you said at that point?
A. I just remember what he—I remember doing that. I remember what he said to me. He said something to do with the nature of something like, “How is he going to implicate me on something I did thirty years ago—I mean something I knew about thirty years ago?” It was in mid-sentence. That’s exactly how he said it.
Q. That’s right. He said that after you said to him something like that Pepper was pointing to you as having been involved in the killing?
A. That’s right, yeah. That’s on track right there. Then it just was “How the hell is he going to implicate me on something I did thirty years—I mean something I knew about thirty years ago” He just stopped then.
Q. “Something he did or something he”—and then he changed and he said, “something I knew about?”
A. He did, he repeated what he said like back and forth, like no, no, no, no, like that.
Q. Right.
A. It was kind of the same way when I talked to Mr. Liberto. It was the same thing. He couldn’t believe it, one of them really kind of frustrated in the middle of everything, he shook his head, and then he had to catch himself, see.
Q. Right. Right. What was your impression at that point when you confronted him? You caught him off guard. You know, what was your impression of him and his involvement? What did you think?
A. Quite peculiar. I mean, I was real curious on why thirty minutes before Dr. King was killed he was pulled off the detail, then all of a sudden he is in the bed at home asleep, then he is with a whore over here coming across town, you know. He has got three or four different stories as to what he was doing.
Q. Right, Right. He didn’t really have a serious alibi about where he was at the time did he?
A. Yeah, but he was pulled off the detail. He said thirty minutes before Dr. King was killed he was pulled off the detail. That sounds like the true story there. But I’m at home asleep or I was at a whore’s across town all that, that is just I think made up. The first time I think he said it right.
Q. Right. Right. Have you ever had any further conversations or involvement other than what he was saying to you?
A. No, because I got what I needed.
Q. Yeah, I think you did. I actually think you did. What did he look like? What did his face look like when you confronted him with this?
A. Just he was in the same demeanor as Frank Liberto when I just right out laid it down to him, just, “God damn it,” you know, like that, just his face crawled up. He cussed a lot, but that’s cab drivers.
Q. Yeah, sure, sure.
A. They don’t cuss like they used to now because they are all freakin’ African. It used to be you spoke another language and you cussed a lot. That’s how it was. Same with carneys. Cab drivers spoke a lot of the same verbatim as carneys, same kind of thing. It upset him, and I already had it, so why press him and really piss him off, you know.
Q. Yeah, yeah.
A. Because he feels like he is Teflon right now.
Q. He feels he is Teflon. That means that he can never be touched, is that what he feels?
A. That’s what he feels, yeah, because he has got his son up there in Langley and all that going on. You know, he has got contacts now.
Q. So he has got some protection, he believes?
A. Yes, he does.
(Telephone conversation with Nathan Whitlock, November 3, 2015, 4–9)
Strausser reacted defensively. “Brown won’t be elected, but anyway, King was a shit-starter. I only did what any good cop would have done at that time.”
Caught off-guard, he effectively confessed. Nate confirmed this in a telephone conversation on November 3, 2015.
As noted earlier, I would also learn that during my meeting with Strausser, there had been an FBI agent or agents in Memphis trying to learn which hotel I was using. Since I use different names, they were unsuccessful, but the mere fact that they were so active was worrying. It may only have been his nephew, but even so, what was the purpose?
It is obvious that I lied to Strausser about Jowers incriminating him. On October 23, 2013, Lenny Curtis was still alive. I had promised to protect him and was not about to put him in danger.
Lenny clearly put Strausser in the frame, as well as Holloman, then Mayor Loeb, Earl Clark, and the fireman in whose car Strausser drove off after practicing with the murder rifle all day.
Strausser was not at home or on his way to work; he had also given me a different story, and neither was Earl Clark asleep at home, awakened by news of the killing. Both men were at the rifle range, with Clark leaving after lunch and Strausser departing in a red Chevrolet convertible around 5:00 p.m.
Lenny gave us an essential window into the truth, which is only amplified by my interview with the primary assassin, and Nate Whitlock’s further information.