— 19 —

THE GARAGE

Next door to Reily’s was the Crescent City Garage.¹ Though privately owned, it was where the FBI, CIA, Secret Service and other government agencies parked their vehicles, since it was directly across the street from the federal court house and convenient to the various government offices clustered around Lafayette Park.² Its location was very important to Lee Oswald for several reasons.

First, Lee frequently needed to slip out of Reily’s for his various covert activities, unnoticed by the staff. But the windows of the Reily offices looked out onto Camp Street, Capedeville Street and Magazine Street, so their staff could easily observe pedestrians on these sidewalks. It was simply not possible for Lee to slip out of customer or employee entrances unnoticed.

But Reily’s coffee and tea products were loaded onto trucks for delivery from a dock at the rear of the warehouse. Here large doors opened onto the alley behind Reily’s and the Crescent City Garage. Trucks came and went all day, backing up to the loading docks and blocking the view of the alley. When Lee needed to leave quietly, he would slip out through the door by the loading docks, cross the alley behind the trucks, and enter the Crescent City Garage.

Normally, Lee would simply walk through the rear entrance to their service area, sometimes stopping to greet the garage’s manager, then exiting through the garage’s front entrance on Magazine Street unseen by anyone at Reily’s. The nearest street to the right was Lafayette Street where Guy Banister’s office entrance was located. To facilitate this secret route Lee cultivated a friendship with Adrian Alba, one of the owners of the garage, so his presence would not seem unusual to the employees. To this end, Lee spent some extra time at the garage, reading magazines, sometimes eating lunch there, and talking with Adrian about the man’s favorite subjects — hunting and guns.³

Another benefit of this garage was that Lee was able to communicate easily with members of the local intelligence community, since they parked their cars there. Lee could deliver and receive intelligence information without being noticed. On “First Fridays” Lee’s visits with Adrian would be longer, since he had to wait for his CIA paymaster to show up and get his car. Then Lee would go outside on the sidewalk where his paymaster would pull his car to the curb and hand him an envelope. Adrian Alba reported seeing Lee do this and Lee showed me one of these envelopes, which was full of crisp new $20 bills.4

During the month of June 1963, Lee ran his faux office of the Fair Play for Cuba Committee (FPCC) out of Guy Banister’s building. He had received an authentic FPCC membership card and bought a rubber stamp kit, pamphlets, flyers and membership cards for his fake organization.⁵ So Lee was both gone from Reily’s and in and out of the Crescent City Garage frequently.⁶ It was during this same month that Lee told me Robert Kennedy instructed Guy Banister to hold a meeting in his office with an important anti-Castro group. Banister then positioned Lee so he could view (and perhaps photograph) each member as they entered Banister’s office, presumably so he would be able to recognize them in the future.

By late June, Lee was at a watershed in his personal life. We were falling deeply in love but Lee struggled with his inner turmoil each night, oscillating between the poles of love and loyalty. Trying to preserve their family, he initially chose loyalty and told Marina that he would return to Russia with her. She was delighted, and Lee wrote to the Soviet Embassy (in Russian) requesting entrance visas.7 Then Lee changed his mind completely. He was ready to leave Marina for good and start a new life with me. We would divorce our current mates and go live somewhere remote, like Mexico. Lee wrote the Soviet Embassy again (this time in English) asking that Marina’s visa be rushed through, with his own to be considered separately, enabling him to send Marina back by herself.⁸ He also told Marina of his desire to go to Cuba, to help prepare her for his upcoming trip to Mexico City.

Lee and I started planning our life together and discussed our options after this New Orleans chapter finally came to a close. We talked about where we would live and how we would earn a living. Lee told me more about his friend, George.⁹ George was in charge of Lee’s stowed-away money and could help us, making sure that a large sum would be given to Marina and the children after we disappeared. Some of it was Company pay, accrued while Lee was a spy in the USSR. George de Mohrenschildt was one of Lee’s immediate handlers, a sophisticated Soviet-born petroleum geologist who was from bona fide Russian aristocracy which had been displaced by the Communist Revolution. He still held the title of Baron. George was now in Haiti representing the interests of Dallas oil magnate Clint Murchison, which caused Lee some concern, but George was a romantic character whose recent trek with his wife through Mexico and Central America fueled Lee’s desire to follow in his footsteps.¹⁰

George de Mohrenschildt

George de Mohrenschildt, one of the most mercurial figures of JFK assassination lore, befriended Lee Harvey Oswald in Texas about a year before the assassination, at a time when he worked for Texas oilman Clint Murchison. A Russian emigrant who was born into an aristocratic family in Tsarist Russia and entitled to be called “Baron,” he ran in high social circles and was friends with George H.W. Bush (later 41st President of the U.S.) whom he called “Poppy” and with Jacqueline Bouvier (later known as Jackie Kennedy, wife of President Kennedy) who called him Uncle George. While still a young boy, his wealthy family fell victim to Russia’s Communist Revolution. In the 1920s, when his father was arrested by the Bolsheviks, they fled Russia and escaped to Poland, grounding his strong anti-Communist sentiments in his personal history and loss of fortunes.

George was well-educated in Europe in the 1930s, and received the equivalent of a doctorate in international business. In the late 1930s, he emigrated to the United States where he was placed under FBI surveillance as a possible German spy - a rumor which followed him around for many years and which he repeatedly tried to dispel.

During WWII, George’s brother worked for the U.S. Office of Strategic Services (OSS) and later for the CIA’s Radio Free Europe during the Cold War. George, however, received a master’s degree in petroleum geology from the University of Texas in 1945 and settled in Dallas, Texas where he did oil exploration work for Clint Murchison and other oil companies. He became a U.S. citizen in 1949 and married four times.

De Mohrenschildt met Lee Harvey Oswald and his Russian wife Marina in the summer of 1962 in Fort Worth, Texas. Concerned about rumors of Oswald’s defection, he consulted with the CIA’s Dallas office which said that it would be “safe” for him to assist the Oswalds. He and Oswald became friends and, by most accounts, he treated Oswald with respect and described his Russian as excellent. After the assassination, de Mohrenschildt testified to the Warren Commission and minimized their relationship. His different accounts of Oswald at different times raises questions.

Before the assassination, in June 1963, de Mohrenschildt moved to Haiti to plot out the location of geological resources on the island and to negotiate access to these resources with Haitian dictator Papa Doc Duvalier for Clint Murchison. He lived there during the JFK assassination and returned to live in the Dallas area in 1967 when Jim Garrison was investigating the JFK assassination. Garrison reports frequent phone calls with de Mohrenschildt about Lee Oswald.

A decade later, in 1976, Congress decided to investigate the JFK assassination. At the time de Mohrenschildt felt the U.S. government was harassing him because of his involvement with the Oswald case, so he wrote a letter to his Texas oil buddy George “Poppy” Bush, who was then Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, asking for relief. Bush wrote back, “I hope this letter has been of some comfort to you, George, although I realize I am unable to answer your question completely.”

In March 1977, George de Mohrenschildt died while waiting to testify before the House Select Committee on Assassinations. His death was ruled a suicide. Needless to say, due to the timing of his death, suspicions continue to circulate.

Wednesday, July 3, 1963

Our cover jobs at Reily’s continued to obscure our activities at Dave’s primitive lab, where we strove to meet our new directive to process 200 mouse pups at a time. Dave and Lee had conspired to save me, again, from the nastiest part of the work, so today Lee left Reily’s well ahead of me. But when I arrived, they were struggling with a time problem. Our mice were suffocated in a standard Bell jar, with ether-soaked cotton wads, but it could handle only ten pups at a time. Then Dave found a big glass cake cover, and the problem was solved. Sealed at the bottom with petroleum jelly, it became a large, efficient gas chamber. At least it put the little critters out of their misery quickly and quietly. But the act of slaughtering, then slicing open these helpless mice, literally made him ill. Lee even vomited after he finished pulling out the guts and tumors, and then continued burping from an upset stomach.

The Fourth of July was the next day, and Robert had said that he would be coming home for the holiday. As usual, he did not say when he would arrive, so we worked as fast as we could. I was afraid Robert would get to Marengo Street before me and be full of questions about where I had been.

Robert finally arrived with the usual load of dirty laundry, and hungry for his “lovin’.” Sad because there were no flowers, no gifts, and so little was said, I nevertheless yielded to his needs, partly out of shame. Disconcerted at my own duplicity, I was astonished that Mother Nature was absolutely no help in resisting. He had been my first lover and I responded, though my heart belonged to Lee.¹²

Thursday, July 4, 1963

I got up to make breakfast as Robert slept in. Dave Ferrie called to tell me the tissue cultures had been delivered to the Prytania Street lab, where an unlucky soul would spend his or her Fourth of July holiday dealing with “The Problem.” Dave was more talkative than usual, and went on to say that he had to go back to Miami next week to deal with his Eastern Air Lines troubles. We would stop further mouse slaughters until July 12th. By then, we should have the results of the experiments on the marmoset monkeys which had already been inoculated. But before Miami, Dave was going to fly to Illinois where an ancient but primitive branch of the Catholic church had accepted his seminary credentials.¹³ He proudly said that he would assist in offering a Mass and that he hoped to get ordained, at last.

“Good luck, Dave,” I said as he hung up, wondering to myself why it would be important for such a brilliant man to be ordained by a conspicuously bogus church.¹⁴

I resumed making breakfast for Robert and served him breakfast in bed. As he munched on French toast and scrambled eggs, I asked if we could go somewhere together.

“I have to leave tomorrow, while you’re at work,” he protested. “That only gives us twenty-two hours together. Besides, I’m too horny to do anything else,” he added, pinning me with “unless you’d like to go over our new budget.”

Choosing sex over budgets, I spent the day making sure Robert wasn’t “horny” anymore. By mid-afternoon, Robert finally conceded that he needed a break. I put on makeup, braided my hair, and put in my brown contact lenses.

By 4:00 p.m., we boarded a streetcar together for only the second time, and headed to the French Quarter. As we strolled through the historic streets enjoying the sights, Robert navigated us to Pat O’Brien’s where he wished to sample one of their famous Hurricanes, the rum drink for which O’Brien’s was renowned.15 Entering through an ancient brick tunnel, we soon found ourselves in a lush tropical paradise.

The moment we were seated, a waiter appeared. Robert promptly ordered two Hurricanes before I had a chance to remind him that I didn’t drink, but the waiter was gone before he could do a thing. So when the Hurricanes arrived, Robert bit the bullet and drank both of them. I got to watch.

“If I buy another drink we’ll blow our budget. We’ve seen enough,” he said. “Let’s go home, before we get tempted to buy something else.”

That was the first and last of the French Quarter I saw with Robert — a good thing, too, since Lee and I went there so frequently. As we rode the streetcar back up Saint Charles, Robert told me he wanted to go to The Mansion so he could try to get our rent money back from Mrs. Webber. As I waited outside, I could hear them arguing. Then Robert appeared, holding a check aloft in victory.

“She gave it all back!” he announced proudly.

“No, she gave you a check,” I amended, figuring that Mrs. Webber had given him a bum check just to get him out of the house. I couldn’t believe he fell for it. We boarded the streetcar and stopped at the bank on the way home to deposit the check. Robert instructed me to call in the morning to see if the check was good.

We arrived home at dark and sat reading for a while. Suddenly Robert looked up from his book and suggested we go see the fireworks. Fabulous! We jumped in his car, but soon ended up stuck in a massive traffic jam on top of the Mississippi River bridge. Robert sat there, quietly cursing, ordering those cars to move! When they didn’t, he became angry at me. “See?” he said. “I told you we should have stayed home.” Whose idea was this? Robert seemed to miss the point that the 400 foot Mississippi River Bridge was probably the best place to see the aerial fireworks (that is probably why the traffic wasn’t moving). Everyone else was enjoying the fireworks while Robert was fussing.

Friday, July 5, 1963

Robert was gone again, pleased with freshly ironed shirts and a good breakfast. As for me, I looked forward to a long Friday lunch with Lee after hard work at Monaghan’s desk. We first went to Banister’s building, though Lee’s Fair Play for Cuba Committee “office” was now closed down. He still had his 2nd floor keys, though, since his dark room was now complete. Pro-Castro posters and flyers decorated its windowless walls. Noting my interest in the posters, Lee said, “I took the rest of that junk home, to impress anybody who might show up there just how much I love my Uncle Fidel.”16 We didn’t stay there long and soon headed to the Prytania Street lab where I picked up the Project’s log books which Dave had dropped off for me. I also inspected the cell cultures and gave them to Lee to courier to the U. S. Public Health Service lab for Dr. Mary. Lee headed uptown to meet Dr. Mary, and I returned to Reily’s. The July 4th holiday had meant less mail than usual, giving me time to type some letters for Mr. Monaghan. But it was hard to concentrate: Lee and I had planned a tryst for that evening!

After clocking out, I went downstairs and waited restlessly until it was time to clock Lee out. Then I returned to the big room where I paced, waiting for Lee to return. The last Reily’s employee was gone, but the lights still blazed. I was lonely and nervous. Finally Lee appeared and took me in his arms. At last! We were love-struck, like two little birds!¹⁷

Lee turned off the main light switch and, in the semi-darkness, we retreated to the privacy of Monaghan’s cubicle. As we embraced, Lee said he had learned a lot from the geisha he’d loved in Japan, as his hands touched me ever so lightly, entrancing me. I found myself drawn into a tide of passion, my mind and body caught in Lee’s slow love that swept so tenderly over me. “I thought I had lost these powers,” Lee whispered, “but you have brought them back. I have at last returned to that kind of giving.”

I felt myself transported to an exotic, romantic world. I loved the smell of the coffee and oil on him. His legs were as hard as steel. His hands were beautiful. His thoughts were one with mine. All too soon, it was time for us to leave Monaghan’s cubicle. As we made ourselves more presentable, Lee said, “There won’t be much more of this, here at Reily’s. Barbe has had to stop pretending that he doesn’t know where I am. My time here is obviously drawing to a close.”¹⁸

“I suppose after you leave, you’ll be doing the leafleting again?” I said in a voice that failed to hide my fear for his safety. Lee avoided answering, as he so often did, bending down to pick up some keys that had fallen from his pocket.

“Here, I have a surprise for you,” he said showing me the keys. “It’s in Alba’s garage. And it’s ours, for the next few hours.” We then went out the back to the garage next door. Lee unlocked the door to the garage with one of the keys. As we entered, I noticed the heat. It had to be over a hundred degrees in there.

“Wow, it’s hot in here,” I observed.

“Well, in a few minutes we’ll be out riding, enjoying the breeze,” Lee said, as he led me to a red van. We got in the van, but the engine wouldn’t start. Lee got out to look under the hood. There he discovered a problem with the van’s solenoid.

“It’s shot, I can’t fix it,” ” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. We looked at each other, realizing we were alone, and that the van had pull-curtains.

“I’ve got an idea,” Lee said, taking my hand and sliding the side door open. Without more ado we slammed the door shut, and tried to make love in a van whose interior got hotter by the second. Not even the heat of our passion could compete with the heat of that hot metal box! Drenched in sweat, we left the garage feeling like utter fools. As we walked toward the French Quarter, looking forward to gulping down as much fluid as we needed to recover, Lee (who never complained) complained.

“Me and my bright ideas!” he said gloomily. “And all because I haven’t got two cents to rub together!”

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” I told him. “Who would have guessed that red vans could be a source of medieval torture?”

“You don’t deserve this,” he said. “Neither do I. We have a hell of a lot left to do this summer, and we need a safe place to be together.”

“There’s 1032 Marengo,” I reminded him.

“I can’t,” he replied. “The sheets there are still warm from Robert. The very thought makes me jealous.”

I understood how he felt: Robert had confessed that he enjoyed making love to me in the Ford as a sort of revenge, for it once belonged to a former girlfriend who’d ditched him.

“That’s two good reasons never to make love to you in a car again,” Lee said.

“Well,” I answered as we walked, “we still have public rest rooms, university listening rooms, the place behind the Seal Pool at Audubon Park, and — “

Lee burst out laughing. “You silly little Minnie Mouse!” he said affectionately, “and how about that plane? It’s got a bench seat.”

“Don’t think so. Dave has flown it up to Illinois. I guess we’re sunk.”

“You just wait,” Lee said. “By this time tomorrow, I’ll have an answer to this.”

Despite our rumpled clothes and our hair still in sweaty strands, we walked into The Acme Oyster Bar on Bourbon Street and enjoyed two plates of oysters. I posed as Lee’s wife, speaking only Russian. Then we caught the Magazine Bus home.

Back at Marengo Street, there was a letter addressed to me on the side table. Robert had opened it. It was from Robert’s mother, and contained an invitation to a ladies-only bridal shower to be held on July 20th, at The Coronado Hotel in Fort Walton Beach. A note accompanied the card expressing regret that only her own female friends were invited, since she felt she would not be able to get along with my mother. She would also feel awkward inviting my sister without inviting my mother, and she did not know any of my friends. She hoped I would understand. I certainly did.

“I am really looking forward to this!” I thought, inspecting the engraved invitation. Who knew if Robert would even be back in time?

Saturday, July 6, 1963

Lee went downtown for a quiet business meeting in the morning, and then spent the rest of the day with his wife and daughter. Susie and Collie were still gone. I hated being alone. So I busied myself by washing clothes by hand in the bathtub, then hanging them out to dry, ironing shirts and skirts, and reading medical reports about dying monkeys.

Sunday, July 7, 1963

Lee called early in the morning to ask if I would like to meet him at the Fur Shop on Canal Street. He didn’t have to ask twice. When I arrived, Lee took me by the neck and started walking us across the busy street into the French Quarter.

“I have a surprise for you!” he said.

“Uh-oh,” I replied. “I’ve heard those words before. Not the van again!”

“Not by any means,” said he, leading me straight into the handsome lobby of the Monteleone Hotel, at the time one of the most elegant hotels in the country. Lee had already registered us as “Mr. and Mrs. Robert E. Lee.”19 Lee showed me to our room. As we walked through those hallowed halls, Lee said softly, “Tennessee Williams, Sherwood Anderson, William Faulkner. They all lived here! Masterpieces were written here!”²⁰

Our room was, in fact, a grand suite equipped with a record player and a stack of records. A basket of fruit and flowers graced an antique table. A simple white card sat on the table.

“Look at the card,” Lee said, as he opened the curtains to reveal a view of the lush courtyard. “Best wishes to the young lovers,” I read aloud. “May you enjoy this music as much as I have.” It was signed “CLS.”

“Who is CLS?” I asked.

“That is Clay LaVerne Shaw,” Lee explained.

“But how — ?”

“He felt sorry for us,” Lee said, kissing me. “I had to see him Saturday morning at his office. We had business to discuss about using the Trade Mart as a future site for my pro-Castro demonstration. He’d just been updated by Dave about the cancer project, and was pleased by my involvement in it.”

“Is that the tall fellow from The 500 Club?” I queried.

“Yes, the same one. He’s working night and day right now, trying to lease offices in the new Trade Mart building, but he took time to meet with me. Shaw represents important anti-Castro interests. When he asked about you and me, I described some of our recent adventures. After he finished laughing, he told me to meet him in a few hours at a rather remote location.21 He was going to get some money from his safe. In return, all he requested from me was an FPCC flyer to keep as a souvenir.”

Lee showed me the money. Shaw had given him a thousand dollars, in hundred dollar bills. “He volunteered to make reservations for us.” Lee continued, “I will only be asked to call. We’ll use different names and different hotels.”

“We’re playing Boris and Natasha again.”

“Well, not quite,” Lee said. “He hoped this would be enough to keep us out of the closets in Reily’s offices and the INCA van for a while.”

Lee said Clay Shaw was both Ochsner’s longtime friend and Dave’s friend, and that he suspected that Shaw had strong connections to the CIA. Lee also knew that Shaw was fiercely anti-Castro and had cooperated with the Wasp project. But Lee also suspected he was a member of the get-Kennedy coalition. Lee considered Shaw to be a wildcard. And the fact that he was now being so generous about our hotel bills made Lee suspicious of him.

But these thoughts passed as we relaxed and turned our attention to each other, which led to an experience with Lee that I would never forget. As I have mentioned, I have two large scars on the right side of my abdomen from operations I had as a child. My body was sleek and strong, but marred. I was embarrassed by my scars, so I went over to close the curtains and darken the room. Lee protested, and opened the curtains.

“Ah, but I want to see you. All of you!”

“No, you don’t,” I replied, closing the curtains again. “I have a big scar... ”

Lee opened the curtains again.

“You’re not going to hide under the covers,” Lee said. “What’s more beautiful than a young woman, standing in the sunlight?”

“While I believe you are among the most remarkable and handsome of men,” I replied, “I am not so blessed among women. I have a major flaw.”

“Judy,” he said tenderly, “I need to see this scar that concerns you so much.”

“You’ve already felt it,” I said, blushing, as Lee began to undress me.

“I myself once had a dangerous scar,” he told me. “It could have been used to trace me wherever I went, so I had it hidden by a very simple procedure.”22

Lee had discarded all of my clothing by now — and I had finished removing most of his. There I stood, in full view of the window’s light, the large, thick scar on the right side of my belly displayed for Lee’s scrutiny. He walked around me, looking critically at every part. He laid his hands on my hips, and rotated me.

“My God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

“You say that to all the women you conquer,” I replied, smiling shyly.

“No, no,” he answered. “It’s true. But I need to look a little longer.”

“I think you’re taking advantage of me,” I complained.

“I hope so. But first, I must find this scar that concerns you so much,” he said inspecting me. “I can’t understand it,” he concluded. “You puzzle me.”

I felt his finger tips trace my body, always with a single point of attention that communicated his affection.

“Hmmm!” he said, with an enigmatic smile. “Hmmmmmm!” he said again, stepping back, and looking me over again. Then, he shook his head.

“What scar?” he asked.

I understood, and fell into his arms, knowing I was home at last... Later that afternoon, we discovered the theme music for Lawrence of Arabia on one of phonograph records that Clay Shaw had left for us, and proceeded to have a fantasy fling only starstruck lovers can imagine. We also decided to read Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom together. After a delicious ten hours together, we were forced to return to the wicked world.

Monday, July 8, 1963

Mondays were always busy, so I worked without a break. Lee knew the drill by this point and would not come anywhere near me in the office. However, I got a glimpse of him in the back, on the shipping lines, working with the latest female Cuban exiles recruited by David Lewis. After work, we rode the bus past our apartments and waited for the final Reily personnel to get off the bus. We moved to sit together, and talked.

Lee said he had received a letter from his cousin Eugene Murret who was studying to be a priest. Eugene had invited him to give a lecture on his experiences in Russia.23 The lecture would be held in Mobile, Alabama, at a Jesuit seminary known as Spring Hill, on Saturday, July 27, 1963. Over 50 young students and several college professors would be attending the day long seminar, which would focus on the issues of Communism and Marxism. Lee would speak in the evening on his experiences while living in the USSR.²⁴

The lecture was scheduled to last about an hour and would be followed by questions from the audience.²⁵ Because the invitation had come from his son, Uncle Dutz was quite supportive of Lee’s participation and said he would drive his family there for the event.

Lee said there was far more preparation behind this invitation than met the eye. He began to prepare not only for his lecture, but also to answer important questions behind the scenes.

“Why would the Jesuits be interested in Marxism?” I wondered.

Lee explained the Jesuits’ predicament. The Order was traditionally very conservative, but the younger generation of missionaries working in places like Nicaragua preached a radical philosophy, known as Liberation Theology, which supported Castro’s Marxist-Leninist ideals.²⁶ These Central American countries were ruled by right-wing oligarchs who were also fanatically anti-Communist, and loyal Catholics.

On the other hand, Castro’s revolution in Cuba was pro-Communist, but anti-Catholic. The Jesuits were in an awkward position. Where should their loyalties lie? Should they promote or resist Marxism in Central and South America?

Lee asked me to help him prepare his lecture, and mentioned that even Marina would be bringing some Russian music along for one of the Russian-speaking Jesuit priests.

When I got home, I found another letter from Robert waiting. It was more advice about money, and tightening our budget. But I had to laugh when he described a scheme that he thought I could use to cheat the transit system out of five cents per day, by trying to use old bus passes.(Seepage 395.)

He also counseled me about finding a dentist, suggesting that Susie Hanover or Mrs. Richardson could help. I was surprised that he had remembered Mrs. Richardson’s name. I had not seen her since that day she gave Lee and me a ride from her church to Susie’s house, and had only mentioned her to Robert on one occasion.27

Wednesday, July 10, 1963

I received an important call at Reily’s from a Dr. Bowers, who told me Dr. Ochsner had asked him to relay good news to me. He said that cells isolated from two of the lymphoma strains from the mice had produced dramatic results in the marmoset monkeys. They suffered from not one, but two variations of a galloping cancer. We had broken through the barrier between mouse and monkey. Now we could move on to specific types of lung cancers, but would need to keep the mouse cancers going in case a failure occurred, when we moved from marmoset monkeys to African Green monkeys.

Friday, July 12, 1963

Dave Ferrie was back in town, and it was time to resume the unpleasant task of slaughtering mice. Dr. Ochsner had decided to increase the number of mice to be “processed” to 400, finishing the run. It was a daunting task, so Lee came to work a half-hour early so we could get an early start at Dave’s. For the first time in five weeks I clocked him out at 5:00, so we could get the work finished at a reasonable hour. Lee had been at Dave’s for hours killing cancerous mice by the hundreds and cutting tumors out of their bodies. It was the height of summer, and the fans couldn’t drive out the stench of 400 sick mice.

Dr. Mary arrived to help out. Later, as Dave drove us home, he told us how he had to go back to Miami, and that Marcello’s case was now taking a lot of his time. “I haven’t even had time to eat,” he said. “Not that I want anything after this.”

“I knew better than to eat today,” Lee said. “I would have puked.”

“I didn’t eat before coming, either,” I said. Dave drove us up to 1032, but I didn’t want to get out. Lee suddenly belched and looked pale, like he would be sick.

“You’ll be home in a couple of minutes now, sport,” Dave said to Lee, who had to put his head out the window to get some fresh air.

“Those baby mice,” Dave went on, “were the saddest, most tormented little creatures I have ever seen.” He shook his head. “To think they fought so hard for their lousy little shreds of life, only to be gassed to death.”

“Stop!” I snapped. “Sadist! If you keep it up, I’m going to be in the same state as Lee. And to think we’re trying to give Castro the same thing! It’s just plain evil, Dave.” The pure horror of it had finally hit me.

Dave’s grin turned to a scowl.

“Get this straight, chickadee,” he snapped. “This is about Kennedy, not Castro. Kennedy is surrounded by his enemies. He can do nothing right in their eyes. And he’s gonna’ die, unless we can stop it.”

Dave threw his cigarette out the car window and lit another one.

“Listen,” he went on, “You’d better know what your boy Lee, here, is up against; and me, too. We’re risking our lives to get this stuff into Cuba. Yes, we’re saying we want to help them take out JFK, and they believe us. If that son-of-a-bitch Castro is eliminated, we might save more than Kennedy. We might save the whole god-damned country from becoming a fascist nation.”

“Well put,” Lee said. “Excuse me, while I go puke.”

I later helped Lee out of the car in front of his apartment, despite the risk of being seen, as he was so sick from vomiting. Then Dave drove me home where I took a long bath trying to wash the horrible smell of cancer off my body.

That night, about midnight, Lee came over, pale and grief-stricken. He looked so sick and dehydrated that I got him a glass of water.

“She told me I was a dirty beast,” he said, sitting miserably on the floor. “And it’s true! I stink! I couldn’t get clean if I sat in the tub all night. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was cancer.”

“I understand,” I told him. “Not even Castro deserves to die like that.”

“Is there any way you can sabotage it?” he asked.

“No. But I’m ashamed. I feel like telling them to go on without me.”

“You can’t,” Lee said. “Something could happen to you.”

“I’m not going to work with murderers,” I protested. His eyes narrowed into a steely gaze. “All right, I said, “I withdraw that statement.”

“We’re stuck,” Lee observed. “Besides, you must weigh the life of the one against the life of the other.” I understood him to mean Kennedy versus Castro.

“If we do that, then we’re playing God,” I said.

“I’m now going to confide in you,” Lee said, as he drank the water. “I am going to trust you. I’ve done that with no one. I tell you this: They want to assassinate Kennedy in Florida, or Texas. They’ll show what happens to somebody who doesn’t play their game.”

“Dave was right. If Kennedy dies, a new system of government will take over. It will exist to generate profit; mostly by waging wars that will not result in clear victories. It’s the old Orwellian idea. Today, we’re at war with Oceania. We’ve always been at war with Oceania. Tomorrow, we’re at war with East Asia. We’ve always been at war with East Asia.

“We can still vote, and choose our leaders.” I said.

“If you’re black, try to vote in the south!” Lee said heatedly. “And who will you vote for if JFK dies? Your choices will be Lyndon Johnson, Barry Goldwater, or George Wallace. Good God.”

I said nothing. The gloom settled in.

“You know,” Lee said, getting up, “JFK is slow to wage war. That’s a man worth taking risks for.”

Lee glanced at my alarm clock. “Someday, I’ll have to conform to society and wear a watch like everybody else,” he said. “It’s my last holdout against western slavery.” He straightened his shirt and pulled a comb through his thin, wavy hair. “Well, time to go back and face some more of her music. Maybe I deserve what she calls me. By the way,” he went on, “I didn’t hit her.”

“I’m proud of you. Remember that!”

“Well, she’s going to be mad tomorrow, too.”

To my inquiring look, he said, “Because I’ll be gone all day Sunday, working on the training film. And next weekend, it will be the same.”

“But when will we be together again?” I asked. “Robert’s job is about to terminate.”

“So is mine,” Lee said. “And after that, you’ll have to leave Reily’s, too.”

“But it’s too soon! I need a paycheck to keep Robert satisfied!”

“You were just there to cover for me. Monaghan can’t wait to get a real secretary again,” Lee replied frankly. “Still, they should pay you something, so you’ll make it until September.”

“I hope so,” I said. “Maybe we’ll be in Mexico by then.”

“Look at the bright side,” Lee said. “I’ll be fired. So will you. We’ll go to Reverend Jim’s again. And we’ll have twice the time to spend together. You’ll see. Kiss me quick! I have to go back.”

Our jobs were ending, but our dangerous days were just beginning. Lee was concerned about his family’s safety and told Banister they needed more protection. Soon Mr. and Mrs. Eric Rogers would be moved into 4907 Magazine, the front portion of Lee’s apartment house, to keep an eye on things.28

Wednesday, July 17, 1963

At Reily’s, I received another complaint that Lee was missing and was required to examine his incomplete work logbook. I located Lee by phone at Dave’s: Ochsner had insisted that yet another batch of mice must be processed! On top of his afternoon absence, Lee was late again that morning. Knowing he would be working late at Dave’s on the Project, he had spent some extra time with his family.

At about noon, Personnel instructed us to find a replacement for Lee at once. Monaghan and I could no longer put off going through a list of new applicants for Lee’s job. We had one ploy left: recommending a man whose background check was incomplete, so he could not be hired immediately. It was all we could do. Lee’s cover job at Reily’s had to end soon anyway, because he was preparing for public pro-Castro activities which were detrimental to Reily’s anti-Communist image.

I hurried to Dave’s apartment, where I found Lee and Dr. Mary working with the mouse tumors in the kitchen. But the level of “laboratory precautions” had suddenly increased dramatically. Both Lee and Dr. Mary were wearing surgical masks, hats, plastic aprons and surgical gloves. Dr. Mary’s hands were thrust into the portholes of a portable germ-free “clean bench” with an air-pumped filter to prevent airborne contaminants from floating around the kitchen and into our lungs.

Dr. Mary noticed me staring at the equipment.

“The marmosets are dying,” she told me somberly. “All of them, including the control group.”

I pondered the implications. Our bioweapon had migrated between the two groups of monkeys, presenting the terrifying possibility that our mutated cancer was not only transferable, but actually contagious. We both knew that from this moment on we needed to be concerned about being exposed to a contagious, cancer-causing virus.

For the next hour, I worked with the microscopes, until Dave showed up. As my eyes were tired, I decided to help Lee, whose hands were now thrust inside the clean box’s gloves, and leave the microscope work to Dr. Mary. I bent down and kissed his perspiring forehead.

“You shouldn’t touch me,” he said, through his face mask.

“I’m going to help,” I told him, putting on my lab coat. I could see a book in Lee’s pocket through the clear plastic apron. “I see you brought along Profiles in Courage,” I said to Lee, hoping he was finished with it, and I could borrow it from him.

“I’m trying to get my hands on everything I can about ‘The Chief,’” Lee answered. “I’ll read it tonight. I will also pretend I can’t hear Marina when she starts yelling at me for being late again.”

As Lee said “Marina,” an image of her flashed in my mind. I could almost see her, pregnant and sitting in their apartment with little Junie at her side. I thought about how neglected a woman can feel, and about how Robert had forgotten my birthday.

“Oh, Lee! Didn’t you tell me that today was Marina’s birthday?” I asked suddenly.

Dave heard my question, and whistled like an in-bound missile. “The ding-dong bells are gonna’ ring all over your poor head, boy!” he teased.

Lee suddenly stepped back from the clean box and starting peeling off his apron, lab coat and hat. “I need a shirt!” he said urgently. “This one stinks!” He stood up and hurried past me, going through the back door of the kitchen toward the hall, to wash up.

Dave headed for his bedroom and went down on his hands and knees to search through a heap of clothes on the floor.

“Here, Oswald!” he yelled, holding up a white T-shirt.

“Okay!” Lee replied. Dave tossed him the clean shirt and Lee put it on. He kissed me on the cheek, handed me Profiles in Courage, and sprinted down the back stairs with Dave on his heels.

“I’ll be right back!” Dave yelled, with his car keys in his hand and his cap on.

“Go, go, go!” Dr. Mary called out, from behind her surgical mask.

Dr. Mary and I continued working for the next several hours, and Dave returned as promised. We finally finished around midnight, and Dr. Mary drove me home. I took Profiles in Courage to bed and slept with it, because Lee had given it to me.

Thursday, July 18, 1963

I woke up tired and headed for Reily’s, where my fatigue made my work day seem longer and harder than usual. Rumors about Lee were circulating again, and it was clear that the end was near. That afternoon Lee and I got on the bus and moved to the back together. Lee told me his supervisor had pounced on him for being late again. Since Mr. Barbe was nearby, he had to show displeasure too, skewering Lee for putting false entries into his logbook.

When Lee passed my desk, I said, “This is my fault,” knowing that killing the mice was my job, not his.

“No,” Lee said kindly. “I had a choice.”

Monaghan and I knew Personnel was closing in on Lee, so we sent them a memo saying we could have a replacement by next Friday, in hopes of delaying the lynching. Personnel fired back a memo saying that they would take somebody straight from the Birmingham Jail, if that’s all we could find. Lee was hounded so much that he was unable to take any breaks, even for lunch. He practically had to ask permission to go to the toilet. He had been scheduled to pick up something from an agent at Alba’s garage, but could not get away long enough to do so. When five o’clock finally came, it was a relief for both of us. It had been a stressful day, so Lee called the Monteleone and reserved a room for us.

The moment we reached our suite, we fell into each other’s arms. There was nothing either of us wanted more. We ended up, after great delights, simply resting together. After dozing a while, Lee called room service and ordered food. I ordered a nice dinner, but Lee ordered only soup and milk, even though he’d missed lunch.

“How can I eat well,” he explained, “when Marina’s eating leftovers? I’m no saint,” he went on, “but I’ve been thinking. I’ve harmed her. I made her pregnant again. Somehow she must now stand up... have the courage and self-confidence to live without me. After I had beaten her black and blue! And then ... I forgot her birthday!” He sighed. “I don’t deserve anything better than soup.”

“You’ve changed! You don’t hit her anymore,” I reminded him. “You’ve become a better man. You have to forgive yourself.”

After we ate, as Lee placed our tray outside the door and came back to the bed, I observed how utterly glorious he looked. There was not an ounce of extra fat on him. “I’m listening,” I told him. “Just talk to me.”

“Perhaps the man I wanted to be is dead,” he said. “Just a memory I can no longer revive.”

“That man exists,” I replied. “He’s a man with much to give.”

“Then I will succeed,” he said finally. “Let Marina rave on. I’ll bear it, because I have you. It won’t be too much longer. She’s ready to leave.”

“Maybe she’ll find happiness in her next marriage.”

“Just stay by my side. If you do, I know I can be strong.”

Lee was quoting from his current favorite popular song, “Exodus,” from the movie of the same name. He put on another album, by the Everly Brothers. After a few songs, their ballad “Let It Be Me” filled our ears and our hearts with love. As it played, twilight turned to darkness, and we made love again. I had never experienced such joy as Lee gave me, and I shook from head to foot and started to cry. “What’s happening to me, Lee?” I sobbed. “I don’t understand!”

Somewhere within, we were striking a mutual chord, powerful, deep and sad. We hung suspended between the present, and eternity.

“We’ll die someday!” I finally whispered. “We’ve been looking at it, at death, for days in the lab. All we have turns to dust, or to words on a page.”

“I know!” he answered simply. We were breathing together, our hearts beating at the same pace, in the same rhythm. It was uncanny. I could feel a wave of electricity travel between us. With Robert, as virile as he was, the skin was always between us.

With Lee, somehow, it seemed that we were meeting past the skin, soul to soul. I can’t explain it better than that, for it only happened with him, and I have never experienced it again. We were truly one, and we knew it. We held each other, whispering about what we had discovered and lamenting the moments as they passed. We had been given a great gift, one so subtle and elusive that it scared us to think that we might have missed it. It might have slipped through our fingers unnoticed.

“What if I hadn’t spoken Russian to you in the post office?” I asked. “What if we had never met?” The enormity of these few words filled the room.

“No, sweet,” he said. “I think we would have found each other even if the very universe was folding itself away.”

As we sat on the bus, returning home, I dared to ask Lee if this meant he would now truly confide in me about his clandestine adventures. “If I won’t tell you,” said Lee, “then God Himself is not allowed to know.”

“All right,” I said. “What agency do you really work for, and who is your most important handler?”

“You little spy!” he said, smiling. “Here’s the answer: I’m loaned to the CIA, and must sometimes help the FBI; but who my main handler is, not even God knows the answer to that. Certainly, I don’t. I call him ‘Mr. B.’“

“As for me,” I told him, “I’m just a pair of hands belonging to Ochsner.”

“They don’t belong to Ochsner anymore,” Lee said. “They’re mine now.”

I asked him if I had a “handler.” Lee said, smiling, “Of course you do. It’s me.” He said I was a lucky woman. “I shall be your protector,” he said. “I won’t let any of them hurt you.”

I asked why would anybody want to hurt me? I was on the ‘good’ side. Lee explained: if you’re no longer useful, you could be thrown out, unless you were educated.

“You’re safer than I am,” he told me. “Officially, you are supposedly an unwitting asset. A good position to be in.” Then Lee snapped his fingers, saying that, in a heartbeat, I could become his very own Marina Oswald. “Once she’s back in Russia, who’s to say that you are not her? You even have the same bad teeth. If we pulled just one tooth, your dental records would match.”

“Her tooth, or my tooth?” I asked, anxiously.

He said that would come later, so not to worry. I should not obey Robert’s orders to go to the dentist. I told Lee he seemed to know a lot about changing identities.

“I should,” he said, “ It happened to me.”

“So, do you know your own name?”

“By the grace of God,” he said, “I do. But nobody would believe I was me, if they went through my records.” The advantage, he said, was that he could appear and disappear as easily as a shadow.

“As you know, I have a bunch of funny records,” I put in, “I could even start a second personality.”

“The only second personality I want you to start is a baby for us someday,” he said. “That is, if you want to.”

I told him I would have a dozen, if he’d help change the diapers.

Lee told me he washed Junie’s diapers regularly. But if we lived in a place like Samoa, nobody would have to wash any diapers. We could rinse off our babies in the ocean waves.

Lee asked if there was anything he still didn’t know about the cancer research project. “Well, you should know about the etiology of the cancer,” I told him. “I’ve never discussed it with you.”

“Etiology? What’s that mean?”

“Etiology means origins. This is no ordinary cancer, as you know,” I reminded him. He agreed.

“It’s probably contagious,” I went on. That startled him, since Dr. Mary and I had not really discussed this point explicitly in front of him. I told him that the monkey virus, now altered by radiation, had moved spontaneously from the deliberately infected marmoset monkeys to the control animals. With it came the cancer and all the marmoset monkeys were now dying. That’s why there were suddenly all the extra precautions in Dave’s lab.

“Remind me not to eat or drink anything over at Dave’s,” Lee said soberly as he pondered the idea of working around a contagious cancer virus.

“But humans are not monkeys,” I told him hopefully, trying to change the mood. “It could be quite different for us. At Roswell Park, I think I saw a way to cure cancer. Maybe we can go that direction next. We were studying bacteriophages. These are viruses that attack bacteria. Say you have a staph infection. Say they genetically alter a bacteriophage to target the staph. If they injected it into you, it would not only kill the staph, but it would stay in your system forever, ready to attack the staph again if it ever showed up. Antibiotics, to which bacteria can build up resistance, could go the way of the Model T.”

“Would it work for typhoid, or cholera?” Lee asked me.

“Sure, just alter it for the specific bacterial infection,” I replied. “Now, if a bacteriophage could be engineered not to touch any cells in your body but cancerous ones, it could eat common cancers like meat-loaf, leaving a bag of pus behind. But I don’t think the cancer treatment industry would like that. They’d lose a lot of money. Of course, you’d have to update the bacteriophage from time to time.”

“Bacteriophage...” Lee repeated the word.

“We’ve created a galloping cancer,” I went on. “I think a bacteriophage could be altered to take out even these cancer cells. But nobody’s going down that road. We’re developing this weapon to eliminate a head of state. But what if we get Castro? Will they really just throw this stuff away?” I asked, shivering at the thought.

“It could be used as a weapon of mass destruction,” Lee answered simply.

“Yes,” I agreed. “Think how Hitler would have loved this, to use against the Jews in those camps. They could say a plague went through.”

“Or to eliminate Negroes in Africa,” Lee said with a cold tone in his voice.

The insane enormity of the idea blew my mind. And I had my fingerprints all over it. I almost wished I’d never been born. Lee asked how many people understood the science behind the Project. I told him Ochsner, Sherman, Dave and I surely knew how it was made and that I knew there were some other doctors involved, but once the bioweapon was created, it could be kept frozen for years and used by anyone who had access to it at some point in the future. We sank into deep silence as we contemplated the dimensions of what we had just said. How had my dream to cure cancer gone so wrong?

________________________________________

1. 618 Magazine St., New Orleans, LA.

2. The building held legislators’ and government offices at that time.

3. Adrian Alba testified to the Warren Commission about Lee’s visits, noting that one day he saw an FBI man from Washington pass Lee an envelope which Lee shoved under his shirt and tucked into his pants.

4. Adrian Alba’s testimony before the Warren Commission, April 6, 1964:

Mr. LIEBELER - Did Oswald tell you what kind of work he was doing for Reily Co.?

Mr. ALBA -... it was obvious that he was in the electrical end of the maintenance end of the factory at W. B. Reily Coffee.

Mr. LIEBELER - What did he say? Or why do you say it was obvious?

Mr. ALBA - He was just like the others there in the maintenance and the electrical end, and they would wear the electrician’s belt with a bandoleer screwdriver, pliers, and friction tape, et cetera.

Mr. LIEBELER - Did he wear that?

Mr. ALBA - Yes, he did.

– – – – – – – –

Mr. LIEBELER - Did he seem to have an interest in firearms that was abnormal or extremely great, or anything like that?

Mr. ALBA - None.

Mr.. LIEBELER - Other than the fact that he was quiet, was there anything about him that struck you as being odd or peculiar?

Mr. ALBA - No.

Mr. LIEBELER - You didn’t suspect he was a violent kind of person, or anything like that, the time that you knew him, did you?

Mr. ALBA - I would answer that indeed not.. I had never gotten the impression from Lee Oswald that he was capable of any plot or assassination, or what have you, of that nature.

– – – – – – – –

Alba responded to relatively few questions and was dismissed. Re his later statement to the HSCA Report, pp. 193-194, researcher Bill Davy (Let Justice Be Done) observed: “One day Alba recalled observing an FBI agent handing a white envelope to Oswald, who was standing in front of Reily’s. Alba watched as Oswald clutched the envelope close to his chest and walked back into Reily’s,” ...[but] Alba’s recollection came several years after the incident and should be regarded with a measure of skepticism.

5. Lee got his FPCC membership card from FPCC President Vincent T. Lee. Lee wanted to be officially connected to the FPCC so that his actions would ultimately discredit them.

6. This building is called the Newman/Neuman Building in assassination records created by those who, in my opinion, wanted Guy Banister’s name dissociated from the building that represented “544 Camp Street” on Lee’s pro-Castro materials. The building had not only the 544 Camp St. entrance but also Banister’s 531 Lafayette Street entrance. In 1963, nobody I knew called this building the Newman Building, for Banister was there already when Sam Newman purchased it. The building was torn down not long after the assassination.

7. Lee requested visas for himself and Marina, but asked that they be considered separately, because he had no plans for them to enter the USSR together. Lee wanted a visa in his role as “dissident.” He had no plans to return unless ordered to do so. Further, the Project needed completion, which included pro-Castro activities to establish his pro-Castro credentials in case he might be asked to enter Cuba, possibly carrying the bioweapon.

A request for a visa to Russia helped raise his safety level. He would later be able to request a transit visa through Cuba to Russia as an excuse to enter Cuba. By showing great admiration for Castro, a request for a visa to transit through Cuba would then not seem suspicious: Lee would want to leave Cuba and head for Russia if he was ordered to carry the bioweapon into Cuba. If he was ordered to stay in Cuba, he could explain that, after seeing Cuba, he had decided not to go on to the Soviet Union after all.

In reality, neither scenario was now attractive to Lee. He wanted a new kind of job with the CIA, where he and I could be involved together in Mexico or South America, as inspired by his friend, George de Mohrenschildt’s trek through Mexico and Central America, which was CIA-supported. Such future plans meant that Marina needed a separate visa to the USSR so she could proceed, if necessary, without him. However, Marina did not want to return to Russia, either: these visa requests were made to present a united front to the Russians. This helped Lee in his Cuban mission, but it also helped ensure Marina’s safety in case Lee’s role as a double agent was exposed: she could always claim that she wanted to return to Russia, and could point to the ‘separate’ requests to prove she was not cooperating with her husband in any of his clandestine activities.

Lee told me that Marina had indeed cooperated with him on many occasions, which I have never seen mentioned. I have mentioned only one such area of cooperation — her using the 4907 Magazine Street address for correspondence between her and Ruth Paine and those in Russia, to avoid any mail coming to the actual address at 4905 Magazine St.

Marina knew more about Lee’s clandestine activities than she has ever admitted, for example, never disclosing his trips out of town except inadvertently, such as to a priest once, at Spring Hill Seminary, when she complained that Lee was “gone all the time.” The position Marina was in after Lee’s death made it dangerous for her to mention any of that. I consider Marina Oswald Porter a courageous woman.

8. On June 24th, Lee’s feelings for me were reflected in the fact that he had not listed Marina as ‘next of kin’ on his passport application. Instead, he’d put his aunt Lillian Murett’s name down. There had been a crisis of doubt after that, but in the end, he was ready to leave Marina for good and start a new life with me. To assure that Marina would not want to go with him to Cuba (which tale would allow him to vanish), Lee may have done what Marina’s “official biography,” Marina and Lee, and her testimony to the Warren Commission, indicated: Lee proposed outrageous ideas about how to get into Cuba, such as hijacking a plane and asking Marina (pregnancy and all) to help him hijack it, placing maps, plane schedules, etc. in plain view. If this actually occurred, any proclivity Marina might have harbored about going with Lee to Cuba (seeing that he was a mental case) was thereby quashed.

9. Fluent in Russian, George called Lee “Harvey Lee” to avoid using “Lee’ as a first name, as did most Russians, who thought of ‘Lee” as a Chinese word, or perhaps as a nautical term (). This does not mean that George thought Lee was actually a man called “Harvey” and that “Lee” was yet another person George might have known. Marina also avoided calling Lee by his name and used “Alek” instead — probably for the same reason. That “Lee” was really “Lee” and not “Harvey” is evident when Lee’s first daughter’s name is shown in full: June Lee Oswald. In Russian tradition, the father’s name is the child’s middle name.

10. George de Mohrenschildt had even dated Jackie Kennedy’s mother. Jackie Bouvier Kennedy called him “Uncle George” when she was young. George also knew Ruth Paine’s father. After Lee’s death, George betrayed him to the Warren Commission out of fear, but in his last days, he wrote about Lee with affection and respect. Regarding Lee’s ability to speak and read Russian, George, who once lived in Minsk, stated “Lee spoke it very well, only with a slight accent.” For no reason George could comprehend, Marina would make fun of Lee for the few errors he made speaking Russian. George was one of the few educated people Lee encountered, besides myself, who appreciated Lee’s character, intellect and independent ways. A couple of years after finishing his book, the Baron would end up “committing suicide” with a shotgun in his mouth — scant hours before an interview with Gaeton Fonzi, an intrepid HSCA investigator who may have been able to get some truth from de Mohrenschildt.

11. Even Marina’s biographer mentions Lee’s long baths and an odor. Lee’s burps are mentioned in McMillan’s book, dedicated to exposing every repulsive thing possible about Lee. But Reily’s was an immaculate and conservative company that insisted that their employees had to dress in clean clothing. It was forbidden to come to work unshaven (a day’s growth might have been tolerated, but would be noticed and possibly questioned). Lee kept clothes in a locker there and always looked clean and presentable at work — even wearing pants with a crease pressed into them.

Evening bathing became a habit I would continue, as my family knows, for the rest of my life.

12. When we divorced 24 years later, Robert wrote plaintively that he suspected I never loved him, and that I considered our children more important to me than he was. But I did love him — just in a different way, for he could never replace my murdered sweetheart — a tragic truth..

13. Dave also said that he would visit his brother in Rockford, Illinois on this trip.

14. Dave’s efforts to be ordained were sabotaged by Jack Martin, who called the head of the church in question and reported that David Ferrie had been charged with “acts against nature.” Apparently, this was Jack Martin’s way to get back at Dave Ferrie for his isolation. See “A Bishop in Heart,” from Dr. Mary’s Monkey by Edward T. Haslam.

15. The famous Hurricane drink from Pat O’Briens is basically a rum punch made with fruit juice. Its signature glass is curved like a woman’s body with hips and shoulders.

16. The few pro-Castroites who showed up after the Wasp leafleting had now been ‘fingered.’ Lee had turned to publicizing 4907 Magazine as his new ‘office’ address.

17. Lee had told Marina he was going to see a movie after work. She didn’t like going to movies with him because Junie was such a handful (so said Lee), and she had trouble understanding English (so said she, to the Warren Commission). As for Robert, he was long gone again.

18. Emmett Charles Barbe, Jr. was Lee’s immediate supervisor. He testified to the Warren Commission on June 15, 1964.

19. This was the only time we borrowed the General’s name to conceal our identities.

20. Lee had read one of my Faulkner books, Light in August, and had written a comment in it. He was particularly impressed with Joe Christmas, who did not know if he was black or white. It was a good book to read in New Orleans.

21. Lee did not tell me where Shaw met him, and only said that it was “rather remote.” Several years later, one of the witnesses in the Garrison trial said that he had seen Shaw and Lee together at the seawall on Lake Pontchartrain. Assuming Vernon Bundy’s testimony is accurate, this may have been that day. Bundy, who was black, a drug-user, and a convict, was portrayed as “not credible” by Shaw’s attorneys, who noted that there were no other collaborating witnesses.

22. Lee had his mastoidectomy scar hidden by having the skin pulled tight behind his left ear, erasing a depression there, and hiding almost all of the scar.

23. From Mary Ferrell’s chronology: July 8, 1963 (Monday) - Gene Murret, Oswald’s cousin who is studying for the priesthood, invites Oswald to tell of his Russian experiences at Murret’s seminary in Mobile, Alabama, on Saturday, July 27th. (WC Vol 16, p.334; WC Vol 20, p.634;WC Vol 25, p. 919)

24. These were all college graduates who were studying for the priesthood. The student priests did not become official priests until they were ordained.

25. The moderator would be Paul Piazza, S.J., a young Jesuit from New Orleans who was about Lee’s age. Paul Piazza’s father owned a seafood company that supplied New Orleans restaurants, particularly those in the French Quarter. In the late 1960s, he taught at Jesuit High School in New Orleans. Eventually, he left the order and taught at a school in the Washington, DC area.

26. Nicaraguan President (and dictator) Anastasio Somoza complained that the Jesuits said Jesus was a Communist and peace would come to earth when the entire world was Communist. Wrote Anastasio Somoza:

As far back as 1963, there was guerrilla activity in Nicaragua... The rebel Sandinistas ... (were) like a malignant cancer ... (and) those Jesuit priests ... preached Communism... They believe that Jesus Christ was a Communist; and that we will have world peace when all the world is communistic ... A number of these priests came from the United States and Spain ... more dedicated to the Communist cause than the local priests. (Chapter 2 of Somoza’s book, Nicaragua Betrayed, finished shortly before Somoza was gunned down).

27. RAB letter

28. Eric Rogers testified before the Warren Commission and revealed information that went unnoticed for decades until I spoke out and drew attention to his significance. In spring, 1964, he and his wife still resided at 4907 Magazine St. — and they had been there since mid-July, 1963. Yet the WC published that Lee Oswald left 4907 for Mexico City without paying the utility bill, implying that Lee was an irresponsible deadbeat, even though elsewhere they published the Oswald family address as 4905. Most researchers assumed 4907 was the Oswald residence, citing the utility bills and other documents (often signed by Lee) stating that 4907 was his address. Even some of Lee’s pro-Castro material had ‘4907 Magazine St.’ stamped on it. Both Ruth Paine and Marina herself placed ‘4907’ on all New Orleans correspondence — not 4905 — proving they cooperated with Lee’s fake address scheme. Until I spoke up and mentioned that Rogers, who was unemployed, had been deliberately hired to live for free at 4907, beginning from the time Lee was fired at Reily’s and began broadly advertised pro-Castro activities — and that 4907 was his fake address to protect his family — researchers had ignored Rogers’ presence at 4907. Rogers even took all Lee’s subversive mail. Testifying that he never spoke to Lee at any time, Rogers nevertheless could not deny that he allowed Lee’s Communist publications, etc. to be delivered to his home. In fact, Rogers had been hired to help protect Marina and little June from potential harm from anti-Castroites who might have tried to confront Lee or his family violently. After Lee left in late September, Rogers got a job with a Meal-a-Minute fast food restaurant, which at that time, I was told, provided interim work for FBI informants. It’s probably too late to find any record supporting that now, but in 1964, Rogers was paying his own 4907 utility bills.