Reclaiming History (56 page)

Jack Kennedy’s political opponents are no less sincere in their grief. The man he defeated to win the presidency, Richard Nixon, speaking from his home in New York, tells the viewers, “President Kennedy yesterday wrote the finest and greatest chapter in his
Profiles in Courage
. The greatest tribute we can pay is to reduce the hatred which drives men to do such deeds.” Senator Goldwater, at a news conference in Muncie, Indiana, also speaks warmly of the president. Even the two implacably segregationist, Democratic governors of Alabama and Mississippi, George Wallace and Ross Barnett, whose fierce political opposition may have damaged Kennedy more than that of the Republican Party, publicly honor his memory.

An avalanche of mail pours into the networks, as though the viewers feel the necessity to enter into a dialogue with them. Many write poems. At CBS, Walter Cronkite realizes that people are “desperate to express themselves about this thing. And poetry seems a natural form. They seem intent either on finding a way to accept the guilt we are all feeling or laying it on someone or something else, or simply eulogizing the man.”

NBC’s Chet Huntley and ABC’s Edward P. Morgan are also swept away by the outpouring of grief. “It is probable that when all this is over,” Morgan muses prophetically, “we will find it created a more personal response than any other event in history.”
¹⁰⁸⁴

10:25 a.m.

As the newsmen in the third-floor corridor grow anxious for Oswald’s anticipated reappearance en route to Homicide and Robbery for further questioning, Deputy Chief Stevenson steps into the hubbub and in a commanding voice instructs them that there will have to be some order when Oswald is brought through the hallway.

“Gentlemen!” Stevenson shouts above the din. “Whenever this door [pointing to the jail elevator door] is open and they come through here, we don’t want any of you questioning this boy. We don’t want any of you pushing him. We want to cooperate with you. We want to help you every way in the world that we can but we’re going to have to have room to work.”

“Do you mind if we shout a question at him?” a reporter ignorantly asks.

“I don’t want you shouting a question at him in no way!” Stevenson barks. “The more you upset him the more difficult it is for us to talk to him.”

“We want to do whatever you want us to, so if you say no questions—” a reporter says cooperatively.

“Back up as far as you can against that wall,” Stevenson orders as the reporters try to melt into the wall, but there is no place to move.

“Let’s make it clear we have all agreed with the chief that we will not ask Oswald any questions,” a reporter yells to fellow journalists.
¹⁰⁸⁵

A moment later, the jail elevator door opens and Oswald is led through the subdued crowd by Detectives Hall, Sims, and Boyd. The reporters follow orders and refrain from bombarding Oswald with questions. He soon disappears behind the closed doors of Captain Fritz’s office.

10:35 a.m.

This morning, Oswald faces a formidable array of faces, including FBI agent Jim Bookhout, Dallas Secret Service agent-in-charge Forrest Sorrels, Secret Service inspector Thomas J. Kelley (in from Washington, D.C.), Secret Service agent David B. Grant, and Dallas U.S. marshall Robert I. Nash. Homicide detectives Boyd and Hall remain in the office as security.
¹⁰⁸⁶
As usual, it is the soft-spoken, gravely voiced Captain Fritz who takes the lead.

“Lee, tell me what you did when you left work yesterday?” Fritz begins.

“I took a bus to my residence,” Oswald says, self-assuredly, “and when I got off I got a transfer and used it to take another bus over to the theater where I was arrested. A policeman took the transfer out of my pocket at that time.”
¹⁰⁸⁷

Fritz nods agreeably, although he knows that officers actually took the transfer out of Oswald’s pocket several hours after his arrest,
not
at the theater. The fact that Oswald said he took a bus to his residence, not the cab Fritz knows he took, hasn’t escaped the homicide captain.

“Lee, did you bring curtain rods to work with you yesterday morning?” Fritz asks.

“No,” Oswald replies.

“You didn’t bring any curtain rods with you?” Fritz asks again.

“No, I didn’t,” Oswald shoots back.

“Well, the fella that drove you to work yesterday morning tells us that you had a package in the backseat,” Fritz tells him. “He says that package was about twenty-eight inches long, and you told him it was curtain rods.”

“I didn’t have any kind of package,” Oswald says. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. I had my lunch and that’s all I had.”

“You didn’t have a conversation with Wesley Frazier about curtain rods?” Fritz probes.

“No.”

“When you left his car, did you go toward the building carrying a long package?” Fritz inquires.

“No, I didn’t carry anything but my lunch,” Oswald repeats.
¹⁰⁸⁸

“Didn’t you tell Wesley you were in the process of fixing up your apartment…”

Oswald doesn’t wait for the rest of the question, “No!”

“…and that the purpose of your visit to Irving on the night of November 21st was to obtain some curtain rods from Mrs. Paine?”

“No, I never said that,” Oswald replies.
¹⁰⁸⁹

Oswald’s denials are meaningless to the thirty-year homicide investigator. He has learned long ago that if someone has the immorality to commit a serious crime, he certainly possesses the far lesser immorality to deny having done it. Fritz is sure, in his own mind, that Oswald carried the rifle wrapped in a long package into work Friday morning. Fritz just wants him to admit it.
¹⁰⁹⁰
The homicide captain saunters over behind his desk, taking his time with his line of inquiry.

“Did you ride in a taxicab yesterday?” Fritz finally asks.

“Well,” Oswald says hesitantly, “yes, I—”

“I thought you said you rode a bus home?” Fritz snaps back.

“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Oswald says with a smirk, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Actually, I did board a bus at the Book Depository but after a block or two it got stalled in traffic, so I got off and took a cab back to my room. I remember a lady looking in the cab and asking the driver to call her one as I got in.”

Oswald is good at volunteering details that don’t amount to much.

“Did you talk to the driver during the ride home?” Fritz asks.

“Oh, I might have said something just to pass the time,” Oswald answers.

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He told me the president had been shot,” Oswald says.

“How much was the fare?” Fritz asks.

“It was about eighty-five cents,” Oswald replies.

“This the first time you ever rode in a cab?” Fritz asks innocently.

“Yeah, but that’s only because a bus is always available,” Oswald answers.

“What’d you do when you got home?” Fritz asks. The question has been put to Oswald before, but Fritz is keenly aware that repetition will frequently trip up liars. They just can’t keep their story straight because they don’t have the truth as their framework of reference. That’s why there’s an expression that liars have to have very good memories—they only have their verbal lie to remember, not the full experience of the truth.

“I changed my shirt and trousers and went to the movies,” Oswald says.

Fritz makes a mental note that Oswald has again changed his story. Yesterday, Oswald said he only changed his trousers.

“What did you do with your dirty clothes?” the homicide captain asks.

“I put them in the lower drawer of my dresser,” Oswald says matter-of-factly.

“Lee, would you describe this clothing?”

“The shirt was a reddish color with a button-down collar and the trousers were gray.”
¹⁰⁹¹

11:00 a.m.

Robert Oswald arrives at the Hotel Adolphus and finds that room 906 is a suite. A stranger answers his knock.

“I’m Robert Oswald. Is my mother here?”

“In the next room,” the man says. “Just come on through.”

The suite has been transformed into the local headquarters for
Life
magazine. A Teletype machine clatters away as Robert makes his way past several reporters and photographers. In the next room he finds his mother, Marina and her children, an interpreter, and FBI agent Bardwell Odum. Not surprising to Robert, Odum is in the middle of an argument with Marguerite. The FBI agent wanted to ask Marina some questions, but the controlling Mrs. Oswald had intervened.

“I’m not going to let Marina say anything to anybody, and that’s final,” Marguerite says, her voice rising to a shout. Odum tries to get around Mrs. Oswald by addressing Marina’s interpreter, only to be repeatedly interrupted by the shrill woman. Odum decides he might have better luck with Robert.

“Come on out here for a minute,” Odum says, as he pulls Robert into the next room.

“You seem to be a sensible guy. All we want is a yes or no from Marina herself, not from your mother. Could you help us?” Robert agrees to try, although he doesn’t think his sister-in-law should answer any more questions without the assistance of counsel. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to speak for her.

“I’ll find out just what she wants to do,” Robert says. The two men walk back into the room and Robert holds out his hand to stifle his mother before she can get started again.

“Now, wait a minute,” he says, “let me handle this.” He explains quietly to Marina through the interpreter what Odum wants. Marina’s answer is short and simple, “
Nyet
.”

Odum is disappointed, but Robert assures him that Marina will very probably cooperate fully once things settle down a little. Odum gives him a card with his telephone number and asks Robert to call him when Marina feels like answering some questions.
¹⁰⁹²

B
ack at the Homicide and Robbery Bureau, Captain Fritz focuses his questions to Oswald once again on the time of the assassination.

“Did you eat lunch with anyone yesterday?” he asks.

“I ate with two colored boys I worked with,” Oswald says.

“What are their names?” Fritz asks.

“One of them is called Junior,” Oswald says, “and the other one is a short fellow. I don’t remember his name, but I would recognize him on sight.”
*

“What did you have for lunch?” Fritz asks.

“I had a cheese sandwich and an apple,” Oswald answers, “which I got at Mrs. Paine’s house before I left.”
¹⁰⁹³

Captain Fritz changes the subject and begins probing Oswald’s relationship with the Paines. He asks Oswald to explain again the living arrangements he has for his wife, Marina.

“Mrs. Paine doesn’t receive any pay for keeping my wife and children there. What she gets in return is that she’s interested in the Russian language and having Marina around helps her with it.”

“What do you know about Mr. Paine?” Fritz asks.

“I don’t know Mr. Paine very well,” Oswald says. “He usually comes by the house on Wednesday or Friday. He has his own car. Mrs. Paine has two.”

“Do you keep any of your belongings at the Paine residence?” Fritz asks.

“I’ve got some things in her garage that I brought back with me from New Orleans in September,” Oswald says.

“Like what?” Fritz inquires.

“Well, let’s see,” Oswald says, “two sea bags, a couple of suitcases, and a few boxes of kitchen articles—dishes and such.”

“That it?”

“I’ve got some clothes there too,” Oswald adds.

“What about a rifle?” Fritz asks.

“I didn’t store a rifle there,” Oswald says, very perturbed. “I’ve already told you, I don’t own a rifle.”
¹⁰⁹⁴

Fritz switches gears.

“Lee, do you have any other friends or relatives living nearby?”

“My brother Robert lives in Fort Worth,” Oswald replies.

“Anyone else? Any other friends?” Fritz asks.

“The Paines are close friends of mine,” Oswald answers.
¹⁰⁹⁵

“Anyone ever visit you at your apartment on North Beckley?” Fritz asks.

“No,” Oswald says.
¹⁰⁹⁶

“Have you ever ordered guns through the mail?” Fritz asks.

“I’ve never ordered guns,” Oswald sighs, tiring of the game, “and I don’t have any receipts for any guns.”

“What about a rifle?”

“I don’t own a rifle,” Oswald snaps, “nor have I ever possessed a rifle. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
¹⁰⁹⁷

Captain Fritz doesn’t answer him.

“Are you a member of the Communist Party?” Fritz asks instead.

“No,” Oswald says. “I never joined and have never had a card.”

“What about the American Civil Liberties Union?” Fritz asks.

Oswald smiles at the thought that Fritz would ask about the Communist Party and the ACLU in the same breath.

“Yes,” he says, “I’m a member of the ACLU. I pay five dollars a year in dues. Does that make me a Communist?”
¹⁰⁹⁸

Oswald snickers under his breath.

“Lee, if you never ordered a gun or purchased a gun like you say,” Fritz says calmly, “then where did you get the pistol you had in your possession at the time of your arrest?”

“Oh, I bought that about seven months ago,” Oswald says, avoiding the obvious contradiction.

“Where?” Fritz asks.

“I’m not going to answer any more questions about the pistol or any guns until I’ve talked to a lawyer,” Oswald fires back.
¹⁰⁹⁹

“Lee, have you ever been questioned before?” Fritz continues to ask questions of the young suspect, but for the moment, less probing questions.

“Yeah, I’ve been questioned a number of times by the FBI in Fort Worth after returning from the Soviet Union,” Oswald says, glaring at the FBI men present in the room.

“They used all the usual interrogation techniques—the hard and soft approach, the buddy system—all their standard operating procedures. Oh, I’m very familiar with all types of questioning. And I’ve got no intention of answering any questions concerning any shooting. I know I don’t have to answer your questions, and I’m not going to answer any questions until I’ve been given counsel. Frankly, the FBI has overstepped their bounds!”