*JFK, unwittingly having uttered this obscure but emphatic warning* -- 6 Feb 2001 “Never send a minion to do a god’s work.” -- Glory, *Buffy the Vampire Slayer*, 6 February 2001 “Now it should be clear . . . that our security may be lost piece by piece . . . without the firing of a single missile or the crossing of a single border.” Several weeks ago I was looking at photographs from my sixth birthday party, from in the afternoon on the Sunday the U-2 photographs were taken and analyzed before invading Cuba at the Bay of Pigs the next morning. Shortly after 1345 hrs that Sunday afternoon, the President called the Bay of Pigs project manager, Richard M. Bissell, Jr., saying, “Go ahead.” The President continued his show of business-as-usual. At 1421 hrs, having motored to the racecourse accompanied by his wife, he watched two steeplechase races of the Middleburg Hunt Race Association. He stayed nearly half an hour, then leaving to “do a little work.” It was a bright, sunny day in the Virginia hunt country. From 1530 to 1605 hrs, Kennedy and Steve Smith hit golf balls on the west pasture at Glen Ora. It made me recall what Schlesinger wrote. . . . In the meantime, Senator Fulbright [Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee] had grown increasingly concerned over the newspaper stories forecasting an invasion. There were two possible policies toward Cuba, Fulbright argued: overthrow, or toleration and isolation. The first . . . would cause trouble in the United Nations. . . . Instead, Fulbright urged a policy of containment. . . . As for the Cuban exiles, an imaginative approach could find a more productive use of their talents than invading their homeland. . . . . . . [The President] did ask Fulbright to attend the climactic meeting on April 4. . . . After the usual routine -- persuasive expositions by the CIA, mild disclaimers by Rusk and penetrating questions by the President -- Kennedy started asking people around the table what they thought. Fulbright, speaking in an emphatic and incredulous way, denounced the whole idea. The operation, he said, was wildly out of proportion to the threat. It would compromise our moral position in the world and make it impossible for us to protest treaty violations by the Communists. He gave a brave, old-fashioned American speech, honorable, sensible and strong; and he left everyone in the room, except me and perhaps the President, wholly unmoved. . . . More than once I left the meetings in the Cabinet Room fearful that only two of the regulars present were against the operation; but, since I thought the President was the other, I kept hoping that he would avail himself of his own escape clause and cancel the plan. . . . But he too began to become a prisoner of events. After another meeting on April 6, I noted: “We seem now destined to go ahead on a quasi-minimum basis -- a large-scale infiltration (hopefully) rather than an invasion.” This change reflected the now buoyant CIA emphasis on the ease of escaping from the beaches into the hills. By this time we were offered a sort of all-purpose operation guaranteed to work, win or lose. . . . . . . The only opposition came from Fulbright and myself . . . and this did not bulk large against the united voice of institutional authority. Had one senior adviser opposed the adventure, I believe that Kennedy would have canceled it. Not one spoke against it. One further factor no doubt influenced him: the enormous confidence in his own luck. Everything had broken right for him since 1956. . . . On the following Tuesday the Robert Kennedys gave a party to celebrate Ethel’s birthday. . . . Robert Kennedy drew me aside. He said, “I hear you don’t think much of this business.” He asked why and listened without expression as I gave my reasons. Finally he said, “You may be right or you may be wrong, but the President has made his mind up. Don’t push it any further. Now is the time for everyone to help him all they can.” And so we were going ahead. If this were so, the next thing was to do what could be done to minimize the damage. . . . As the flotilla of seven small ships waited off Puerto Cabezas on the late afternoon of April 14, Luis Somoza, the dictator of Nicaragua, appeared at the dock . . . The members of the Brigade trailed their vivid battalion scarves in the wind, and the boats, tinted by the red light of the dying sun, set out for Cuba. The neutralization of Castro’s air force was to be brought about by air strikes from Nicaraguan bases before the landings. The State Department had opposed pre-invasion strikes as incompatible with the ground rule against showing the American hand. . . . The Pentagon, on the other hand, had contended that pre-invasion strikes were essential to knock out the Cuban air force and protect the disembarkation. . . . [T]here had come a compromise -- a strike against Cuban airfields two days before the landings, to be carried out, in order to meet State’s objections, by Cuban pilots pretending to be defectors from Castro’s air force. After an interval to permit U-2 overflights and photographic assessment of the damage, a second strike would follow at dawn on D-day morning. No one supposed that the cover story would hold up for very long . . . But the planners expected that it would hold at least until the invaders hit the beaches -- long enough to mask the second strike. . . . As the ships made their slow way toward Cuba, eight B-26s took off from Puerto Cabezas in the night. At dawn on Saturday morning they zoomed down on three main Cuban airfields. . . . The pilots returned to Nicaragua with optimistic claims of widespread damage. The overflights the next day, however, showed only five aircraft definitely destroyed. . . . . . . It was now late Sunday afternoon. When Rusk said that the projected strike was one which could only appear to come from Nicaragua, Kennedy said, “I’m not signed on to this”; the strike he knew about was the one coming ostensibly from the beachhead. After a long conversation, the President directed that the strike be canceled. When he put down the phone, he sat on in silence for a moment, shook his head and began to pace the room in evident concern, worried perhaps less about this decision than about the confusion in the planning; what would go wrong next? . . . . . . (everything) Castro’s air force, alerted by the first clash, reacted with unexpected vigor against both the ships and the men on the beaches. At nine-thirty in the morning, a Sea Fury sank the ship carrying the ammunition reserve for the next ten days and most of the communications equipment . . . . . . (so then, first things first) The first problem on Thursday was to contain the political consequences of the debacle. . . . Routine remained implacable: the President was scheduled to address the American Society of Newspaper Editors at the Statler Hilton that day. Ted Sorensen had already prepared a draft on another subject. But on April 20 only one subject was possible. After consultation with the President, Sorensen stayed up most of Wednesday night composing a speech on Cuba. Thursday morning we all met for breakfast in the small dining room on the second floor of the White House . . . to consider the new draft. . . . (and so, . . .) Having uttered this obscure but emphatic warning, he went on to define the lesson of the episode. . . . This “new and deeper struggle,” Kennedy said, was taking place every day, without fanfare, in villages and markets and classrooms all over the globe. It called for new concepts, new tools, a new sense of urgency. “Too long we have fixed our eyes on traditional military needs, on armies prepared to cross borders, on missiles poised for flight. Now it should be clear that this is no longer enough -- that our security may be lost piece by piece . . . without the firing of a single missile or the crossing of a single border.” How totally obvious. The security is not lost by the firing of a missile -- it’s lost piece by piece *before* the firing of the missiles. By then it shall *already* have been lost. . . . As part of the strategy of protection he moved to stop the gathering speculation over responsibility for the project. When in one discussion the Vice-President ventured a general criticism of CIA, Kennedy turned to him and said, “Lyndon, you’ve got to remember we’re all in this and that, when I accepted responsibility for this operation, I took the entire responsibility on myself, and I think we should have no sort of passing of the buck or backbiting, however justified.” By Friday, however, the morning papers were filled with what purported to be ‘inside’ stories about the Cuba decision. An impulse for self-preservation was evidently tempting some of the participants in those meeting in the Cabinet Room to put out versions of the episode ascribing the debacle to everyone but themselves. Kennedy, having called a ten o’clock press conference, summoned [people] for breakfast in the Mansion. The President remarked acidly that the role of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was notably neglected in several stories . . . The best way to turn off the speculation, he said, was to tell the truth: that all the senior officials involved had backed the operation but that the final responsibility was his own. Then he added, with unusual emphasis, “There is only one person in the clear -- that’s Bill Fulbright. And he probably would have been converted if he had attended more of the meetings. If he had received the same treatment we received -- [here, he enumerated all the items having been argued for the invasion] -- it might have moved him down the road too.” -- So that’s it. The treatment. Now doesn’t that sort of explain things? By the time anyone becomes a *part* of the Powers That Be, that one has already gone *through* “the treatment.” By the time anyone becomes interactive in the processes of the Powers, he or she has been receiving the treatment “taking place every day, without fanfare, in . . . classrooms all over the globe.” *Everyone* gets the treatment. So *what* if kerosene-like jet fuel doesn’t “go off” with a mere spark -- then add hydrogen and propane to the vapor mix in a really big experiment, that’ll go off like a bomb, put “the video” (only) on the evening news (with “whoa, we have been sooo lucky . . .” sorts of commentary) and get The Learning Channel to tell the “fascinating inside story” of the State “scientist detectives;” produce a presentation to “the families” and the media all with CIA cartoon showing “just how it really happened” and finally produce an also fascinating delivery to C-SPAN, everyone agreeing somberly on exactly how it happened -- but more importantly, on the imperative that we do all that can be conceived to minimize the risk as much as we possibly can to ensure that this seemingly inexplicable Mysterious Spark event never kills a jetliner full of innocent beings again . . . and all without any cross-examination, with absolutely no treatment-validated *criticism*. Why? Because it’s better -- in the big picture of mankind -- to keep the people pacific and, maybe more importantly in this circumstance, to re-elect the genuine peacemaker and equity-manufacturer. “The treatment” is what makes a fanatic UFO-kook out of anyone who dares question the emperor. Bundy reminded him that I had opposed the expedition. “Oh, sure,” he said. “Arthur wrote me a memorandum that will look pretty good when he gets around to writing his book on my administration.” Then with a characteristic flash of high sardonic humor: “Only he better not publish that memorandum while I’m still alive. . . . And I have a title for his book -- *Kennedy: The Only Years*.” . . . Kennedy looked exceedingly tired, but his mood was philosophical. He felt that he now knew certain soft spots in his administration, especially the CIA and the Joint Chiefs. He would never be overawed by professional military advice again. . . . . . . Subsequent controversy has settled on the cancellation of the second air strike as the turning point. In retrospect, there clearly was excessive apprehension that Sunday evening; it is hard now to see why, the first strike already having taken place, a second would have made things so much worse at the United Nations or elsewhere. Kennedy came later to feel that the cancellation of the second strike was an error. . . . (And one thing led to another.) On Tuesday morning, October 16, 1962, shortly after 9:00 o’clock, President Kennedy called and asked me to come to the White House. He said only that we were facing great trouble. Shortly afterward, in his office, he told me that a U-2 had just finished a photographic mission and that the Intelligence Community had become convinced that Russia was placing missiles and atomic weapons in Cuba. That was the beginning of the Cuban missile crisis . . . -- Robert F. Kennedy, *Thirteen Days*, January 20, 1969 . . . Sunday, October 28, was a shining autumn day. . . . It was all over, and barely in time. If word had not come that Sunday, if work had continued on the bases, the United States would have had no real choice but to take action against Cuba the next week. No one could discern what lay darkly beyond an air strike or invasion, what measures and countermeasures, actions and reactions, might have driven the hapless world to the ghastly consummation. The President saw more penetratingly into the mists and terrors of the future than anyone else. . . . . . . . . . And Richard Nixon’s declaration of hatred of the press and ‘withdrawal’ from politics after losing the governorship of California gave the White House a special fillip of entertainment. * * * “What about Ecclesiastes? Because he loved that so. The third chapter . . .” She crossed to the bookshelves lining the south wall and handed Sorensen the Bible she had studied at Vassar. . . . He began reading: To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die. . . . “Oh, *yes*,” she breathed. It was, she recalled afterward, “so right that it just made shivers through your flesh.” . . . . . . The men had been going through papers while she sat alone, lost in thought. Abruptly she said, “And there’s going to be an eternal flame.” She remembered afterward that “the thing just came into my head.” . . . star-link: roswell.fortunecity.com/conspiracy/6/ (film-frame images: real and maybe fake ones, too) It’s ten o’clock. Do you know where your Zapruder film is? The New York Times, Wednesday, 11 Dec 1963, p. 41 -- Kennedy Flame Put Out Accidentally by Pupils WASHINGTON, Dec. 10 (AP) -- The eternal flame at the grave of President Kennedy went out for a few minutes today, accidentally extinguished by the holy water of school children. John C. Metzler, superintendent of Arlington National Cemetery, reported that a group of children, from 8 to 11 years old, were taking turns sprinkling the grave with holy water when “the cap came off the bottle, and a stream of water hit the flame directly -- extinguishing it.” Mr. Metzler said one of his assistants relighted the flame in a few minutes. RANKIN TO ASSIST WARREN’S PANEL Ex-Solicitor Named Counsel in Assassination Inquiry By ANTHONY LEWIS Special to the New York Times WASHINGTON, Dec. 10 -- J. Lee Rankin, former Solicitor General of the United States, has been chosen as general counsel of the commission inquiring into President Kennedy’s assassination. The commission, headed by Chief Justice Earl Warren, announced the appointment today. Mr. Rankin is already at work on the job in his New York law office, studying the detailed Justice Department [FBI] report submitted to the commission yesterday. . . . As general counsel to the commission, Mr. Rankin will spend as near to full time as he can on its work. He will be paid, as a consultant, from the President’s contingency fund. He expects to come to Washington this weekend to pick out an office. The General Services Administration is now looking for space. Mr. Rankin will have other lawyers and a clerical staff to help him. He plans to borrow some persons from Government agencies and to hire some. He said today that Chief Justice Warren had asked him to keep February in mind as a possible target date for a report. Mr. Rankin and the staff would undoubtedly do the drafting with the seven commission members making the final decisions. But he made clear that the commission was not putting time ahead of the need for thoroughness in any report. “It would be very dangerous,” Mr. Rankin said, “for the commission to come out with a report before it has all the facts.” May Release FBI Data “The President and the Chief Justice want to get it resolved as soon as possible,” he said, “not only for the American people but for those in foreign countries, too.” There is a possibility that the commission will soon release part of the long report prepared by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The commission statement today described this report on the Nov. 22 assassination as “five volumes of summary and exhibits.” . . . Sees Report by February Special to the New York Times CHICAGO, Dec. 10 -- Representative Gerald R. Ford, Republican of Michigan, a member of the Warren commission, predicted today that the panel’s report would not be made until after the trial of Jack Ruby in February. PRESIDENT ASKS A KENNEDY COIN (continued from page 1 . . .) Recalling the day before, The New York Times, Tuesday, 10 Dec 1963, p. 1 -- OSWALD ASSASSIN BEYOND A DOUBT, F.B.I. CONCLUDES He Acted Alone and Did Not Know Ruby, Says Report to Warren Inquiry Panel Special to The New York Times WASHINGTON, Dec. 9 -- A Federal Bureau of Investigation report went to a special Presidential commission today and named Lee H. Oswald as the assassin of President Kennedy. The report is known to emphasize that Oswald was beyond doubt the assassin and that he acted alone. The report further concludes that there was no link between Oswald and Jack Ruby, the man who killed him in the Dallas police garage. The Department of Justice, declining all comment on the content of the report, announced only that on instruction of President Johnson the report was sent directly to the commission of which Chief Justice Earl Warren is chairman. The commission asked that the report not be made public until it had had an opportunity to review it and had taken “whatever action it may feel appropriate.” Investigation Continues The Justice Department said that the F.B.I. investigation was continuing and that any further facts that were found would be reported to the Warren commission. Speculation that Oswald and Ruby knew each other, or in some way were part of a prior vendetta or association, is completely discounted in the report. . . . Subpoena Power Given Congress, meantime, gave the Warren commission subpoena powers. When the commission next meets will be determined by the Chief Justice. Its course after that will be determined in the light of the facts in the F.B.I. report. Among the findings that point to Oswald as the assassin are clothing fragments and fingerprints. The bits of clothing were found on the rifle used in the assassination. The prints were found on wrapping paper that covered the rifle when it was carried into the Dallas building from which the shots were fired. . . . Thursday, 18 January 2001, Drm 2: I’m with some friends, maybe co-workers, and we momentarily meet Fox Mulder, here in his usual dark-suit business look. It seems that we’re at the complex of business activity at where we work in different endeavors, us running into him in a workplace social way. He’s an obnoxious sort of character. (scene change, now sometime later, like a day or so later on the weekend) Somewhere near Miami, I’m with an attractive Cuban-American woman -- an American-born Miami life-long resident. (In the dream-consciousness it seems like she was with me in the prior scene, like we have the shared memory.) A couple of others whom she knows (girls, seemingly younger relatives) have accompanied us on this outing for she and I going to lay out, like at the beach. Walking along in what is like a throughway going lengthwise underneath a huge steel bleacher-support assemblage -- many rows tall as for a stadium, but the bleachers above are empty of people -- meeting in a public flow of traffic, we run into Mulder and four buddies he knows from whatever it is he does for work; and they are all naked, here just setting out to go running. (I only see them with their pale skin from the waist up, thankyou.) The girl is acquainted with him in the same way as I am, from at the business complex. It was like how you would meet someone you knew from at work upon arriving at South Beach, in a disfavored juxtaposition. Mulder is obnoxiously self-assured, kind of condescending maybe, and I think he’s a jerk, his part in the brief word exchange seems flirtatiously directed toward the girl I’m with -- acknowledging his bold “running non-attire” fashion, the quintessence of trendy. (scene-shift) The girl and I, and the younger ones with her by her side, have arrived at an opening on our left which leads out to the front of the bleachers -- this an entranceway gap in the bleachers a ways south of where we were before. All around us now, the ground surface is beach sand. The sun is shining in from the east, the direction the bleachers face, down onto the green all-weather carpeting running across the front of the entranceway, and I see the girl, in shorts and gold-tone bikini top, nicely tanned, having just stopped where the entranceway intersects and turned looking back at me, in the moment it becoming evident that this is about where our lay-out spot is to be. (scene-shift) Near the front of the bleachers in the entranceway, I take the olive-drab worn wool blanket and fling it out over the carpeting westward, for making where we’re going to lay out alongside the first bleacher-row at my right, the entranceway being wide enough for several blankets. Then realizing it isn’t quite placed right -- maybe like it’s too close to some other persons -- I pull on the o.d. blanket from the other side, inward to just off of the carpeting and all onto smooth, soft beach sand, alongside several front bleacher-rows cascading above, the blanket still positioned in the afternoon sun. (scene-shift) Situated, seemingly a little later in the afternoon, we’re laying out on the o.d. wool blanket atop the sand, the blanket having been finally placed back some into the entranceway along its north edge, the sun still shining in. I begin hesitantly to pull my Speedo suit down for taking it off, knowing what I’m doing. But in this context, only, it’s allowed, like in real-life a girl taking her top off. I never see what is out on the sand beyond, off in the direction the bleachers face. [end, awakening, and right away . . .] Vis: Seeing down from above, a large naval ship cruising on the sea as at night, making a wake, crew on the deck in light-blue cotton shirts with neatly rolled-up sleeves, hastily tossing bicycles overboard. (A personal context note: In the summer of 1986, I awoke in a dream which concluded with me in the nighttime travelling, smoothly and as if powered, on a nice bicycle out of town east on the highway to Lincoln, but then as the highway curved to the right, I instead went straight ahead onto a gravel county road, coming to a quiet stop. Then, that evening passing through the residence hall lobby, the *Cosby Show* was on wherein the doctor is explaining the meaning of a dream to one of his kids, saying that the bicycle represents “freedom.” Since then, that has been a dream-context consideration.) This reminding me of when, Sunday, 14 June 1998, Drm: (the third scene) In the University Center cafe at the University of Miami, “The Eye” (as in, “of a hurricane”), I’m seeing a film being projected onto the row of windows, the view through which looks out onto the 50-meter pool and deck lengthwise -- outside now, a sunny afternoon -- the image being a tanned big swimmer girl on a darkened background . . . and also projected sequentially, sketched drawings of her body on an off-white background. [At the far end of the pool, set back of and extending along the 25-yard wide pool deck, is a small set of steel-supported aluminum bleachers -- around which laying out happens on the textured cement.] (scene change) All seeming like real, supposedly I’m Fox Mulder -- here feeling like some sort of agent (but not at all like an employee of the FBI, I guess this highlighting the fantasy aspect of *The X-Files*: FBI agents are not pursuers of truth -- they are pursuers of the interests of the authority to whom they report and followers of directives, near-robotical operators with power for maintaining order for the executive authority; otherwise they would never have been able to *become* agents -- for if the people *knew* the truth they might go nuts, be unduly restless . . . or momentarily vote wrongly . . . if they knew the truth . . . anyway) -- sitting there alone in the car in the middle of the night doing surveillance or something. Looking out the window of the government-provided car -- nothing’s happening, but I’m not bored, I say (in Mulder’s voice), “Now we just have to wait for the mystery spade.” [end, awake] The FBI report by agents J. W. Sibert and F. X. O’Neill -- Dated: 22 November 1963, dictated and typed 26 November. Found: in the National Archives in June 1966, not mentioned in the Warren Commission Report or included in the twenty-six volumes of Report support material. . . . Following the removal of the wrapping . . . it was also apparent that a tracheotomy had been performed, as well as surgery of the head area, namely, in the top of the skull. . . . Inasmuch as no complete bullet of any size could be located in the brain area and likewise no bullet could be located in the back or any other area of the body as determined by total body X-Rays and inspection revealing there was no point of exit, the individuals performing the autopsy were at a loss to explain why they could find no bullets. At the recorded autopsy supervised by Commander Humes, the brain was removed without any cutting of bone or doing anything to the skull -- chunks of the skull falling out onto the table once the “additional wrapping which was saturated with blood” was removed from the head. Yet oddly, the brain is normally “connected” in numerous ways; and skull bone is removed, sawed away, to facilitate full access. For that matter, skull bone is ordinarily connected to things: to the scalp outside and the dura mater (protective tissue which surrounds the brain) inside. Oh, but there *was* no dura mater. (Dr. Boswell before the HSCA, 1977: “. . . the dura was . . . completely destroyed. . . .”) “. . . [T]hese portions of the skull, they came apart in our hands very easily . . . as we moved the scalp about, fragments of various sizes would fall to the table” -- piece by piece. Sibert and O’Neill continued . . . [News arrived that a bullet had been found on a stretcher in the emergency room of Parkland Hospital.] . . . Also during the latter stages of the autopsy, a piece of the skull measuring 10 x 6.5 centimeters was brought to Dr. HUMES who was instructed that this had been removed from the President’s skull. Immediately this section of skull was X- Rayed, at which time it was determined by Dr. HUMES that one corner of this section revealed minute metal particles and inspection of this same area disclosed a chipping of the top portion of this piece, both of which indicated that this had been the point of exit of the bullet entering the skull region. On the basis of the latter two developments, Dr. HUMES stated that the pattern was clear . . . that a second high velocity bullet had entered the rear of the skull and had fragmentized prior to exit through the top of the skull. He further pointed out that X-Rays had disclosed numerous fractures in the cranial area which he attributed to the force generated by the impact of the bullet in its passage through the brain area. . . . (The skull fragment that seemed to solve the puzzle was, it seems, among three fragments seemingly picked up by Dr. Ebersole in the Commanding Officer’s office between twelve and one o’clock, who, having been called there, has said he was told that they “had just arrived from Dallas.” And the record has never clarified who the person was who brought the fragments “from Dallas,” or where that fragment came from or what it was doing not with the rest of the skull and associated pieces.) The Warren Commission never asked Commander Humes about the FBI report, nor did they ask him or a forensic pathologist about Humes’ autopsy report cryptic medical mumbo-jumbo describing brain lacerations, otherwise seemingly having been done in an organized manner with a blade except for the known fact that Oswald did it. At Parkland Hospital there was no surgery to the head wound in the 22 minutes. Nor did everything fall out onto the table. (. . . Now I’m thoroughly confused.) Dr. Boswell explaining, to the House Select Committee on Assassinations in 1977, his autopsy-notes drawing with notations, these notations to which Dr. Humes made no reference in his verbally descriptive autopsy report: Apart from the 10 by 17 cm (4 by 7 inches) “defect,” as Humes called it -- crypto-babble for skull “vacancy” or “void” -- on the right-top of the head noted “missing,” concerning a boundary 10 cm wide delineated on the left-top of the head, Boswell said, “This was a piece of 10- centimeter bone that was fractured off of the skull and was attached to the under surface of the skull. There were fragments attached to the skull or to the scalp and all the three major flaps.” Flaps. These would be the flaps of scalp exposing the skull that are never resultant from a small caliber, high velocity rifle bullet blowing out a hole when exiting from a head. (Entrance wounds are merely the contour of the bullet on the skull exterior, like when a BB traverses glass. It has to do with materials properties and failure in shear stress.) Dr. Finck’s autopsy notes excerpted by the HSCA in 1979 (he arrived at the autopsy after Humes started): “Humes told me that he only had to prolong the lacerations of the scalp before removing the brain. No sawing of the skull was necessary.” So then, Nurse Pat Hutton, who with Nurse Diana Bowron, were the first persons to reach the car at the emergency entrance at Parkland Hospital, in the times-past “Top Secret” report of her activities wrote: Several people helped put the President on the cart, and we then proceeded to . . . Trauma Room #1. Mr. Kennedy was bleeding profusely from a wound on the back of his head, and lying there unresponsive. . . . Within a few minutes, there were numerous doctors in the room . . . A doctor asked me to place a pressure dressing on the head wound. This was of no use, however, because of the massive opening on the back of the head. Dr. Charles Carrico, the first physician to see President Kennedy in Trauma Room One testified: SPECTER: Would you describe . . . precisely . . . the nature of the head wound which you observed on the President? CARRICO: The wound that I saw was a large gaping wound, located in the right occipitoparietal area [the lower back of the head]. I would estimate to be about 5 to 7 cm [2 to 2¾ inches] in size, more or less circular . . . I believe there was shredded macerated cerebral and cerebellar tissues both in the wounds and on the fragments of the skull attached to the dura. And, SPECTER: Was any other wound observed on the head . . . ? CARRICO: No other wound on the head. On 29 November 1963, Mrs. Kennedy tells Theodore White in an interview: “All the ride to the hospital . . . I kept holding the top of his head down, trying to keep the brain in.” Now that makes *perfect* sense, given the 26 square-inches of skull vacancy in the “missing” defect in the right-top of his head, not to mention the 4-inch wide (and longer yet, according to the drawing) piece of bone totally disattached from the left-top of the head (seemingly available, but “attached to the under surface of the skull”) -- or everything else falling out “piece by piece” later in the night. Monday, 15 June 1998, Drm: In Palisade on a warm summer day. Some girls are there, it’s just a fun afternoon, and I have a red, sporty car. [end] On Mon, 22 Jan 2001 15:56:29 GMT, hellcatt@my-deja.com (subject: "I alone escaped to tell you"), to alt.dreams, wrote: > . . . > > It had been a gory scene. As I recall, someone else had been > shot in the face. It had all really started out in play, as a > play fight. > Anyway, my computer was booting up next to me as I washed off > the golden colored shirt with the pattern (can't remember what > it was, but it seemed to be a tacky tourist shirt). . . . > > . . . Suddenly, I saw the world as I imagined it to be then. > Under an open sky, a table on a wide open field, in the daytime. > . . . > > I wondered if I was having a past life memory or not. It was > possible, but hard to tell. A woman who looked like the virgin > Mary (like I know what she looks like!) was doing something on > the table, which was made of glass. > > ** > > The end of the last dream took me to Brookline, MA, on the mass > pike. We were somewhat lost, me and my party. And I asked a > passerby how to get back to Boston. . . . > . . . > . . . [W]e passed a brownstone that looked empty. . . . > > Anyway, if they were empty, maybe I could buy one. I never > thought about owning a brownstone before. I could keep it as a > summer home. > > As we walked upstairs, I even said to my friend that a lot of > the brownstones were haunted. If it were cool to have your own > building, it was a hundred times cooler if it were haunted. It > was an outdoor stairwell. While I was getting to the second > floor, I heard a scream. Maybe this brownstone was haunted! I > wondered if I could see the ghost or energy with my second > sight. But then we found out that Angel had just surprised > Jackie, and she'd screamed. > > I was imagining carving a Jack-O-Lantern. It's mouth. The > design I settled on was two fangs. But there wasn't any around, > and I couldn't see any, it was just an imagining. Six / ANGEL Goaded by a mighty tailwind, the Presidential aircraft hurtled eastward at a velocity approaching the speed of sound. Beyond the airport Jim Swindal had looked down on a flat tan-and-green plain crisscrossed by parallelograms of cyclone fences and highways, a tract blank as a plate. Ahead lay a navy blue blob of water and, in the distance, a crinkling of mountains. . . . He reset his watch; 3 P.M. in Texas (2100 Zulu) was 4 P.M. in Washington. Then, spitting flame, Angel climbed steeply. . . . At this tremendous altitude, nearly eight miles straight up, the sky overhead was naked and serene. Its tranquillity was deceptive. . . . . . . The magenta twilight turned to olive gloaming and became dusk. The last thin rays of sunlight glimmered and were succeeded by early evening. The colonels looked out upon the overarching sky. There was a lot to see. In the last ten days of autumn the firmament is brilliant. Saturn dogged the moon. Jupiter lay over the Carolinas, the Big Dipper beyond Chicago. Arcturus was setting redly behind Kansas; Cassiopeia and the great square of Pegasus twinkled overhead. But the brightest light in the bruise-blue canopy was Capella. Always a star of the first magnitude, it seemed dazzling tonight, and as the Presidential plane rocketed toward West Virginia it rose majestically a thousand miles to the northeast, over Boston. . . . Abruptly O’Donnell rose. “You know what I’m going to have, Jackie? I’m going to have a hell of a stiff drink. I think you should, too.” She was dubious. She had promises to keep, and miles to go, and a drink might trigger uncontrollable weeping. She asked, “What will I have?” “I’ll make it for you. I’ll make you a Scotch,” he said. “I’ve never had Scotch in my life.“ . . . She hesitated, then nodded. “Now is as good a time as any to start,” she said to Godfrey. . . . Ken brought her a tall, dark tumbler. It tasted like foul medicine, like creosote. Nevertheless she drank it, and drank another. Indeed, after the funeral, when she had moved to Georgetown, Scotch was the only whiskey she would take. She never learned to like it. But it always reminded her of that trip back from Dallas, of the hours she wouldn’t permit herself to forget. . . . The decision to move to Bethesda was made by her. Dr. Burkley, kneeling in the aisle, explained that because the President had been murdered there would have to be an autopsy. “Security reasons,” he said, required that the hospital be military. The option lay between Bethesda and Walter Reed. “Of course, the President was in the Navy,” he said softly. “Of course,” said Jacqueline Kennedy. “Bethesda.” . . . “I’ll stay with the President until he is back at the White House,” Burkley promised . . . . . . Seven / LACE Atop the moving lift Lieutenant Sam Bird, approaching the coffin, raised his white-gloved hand in a salute. For the Lieutenant, Air Force One’s arrival was followed by a chain of small surprises. . . . At the sight of the casket Sam Bird’s throat became congested. It disturbed him for a special reason: its cover was bare. Accustomed to the pageantry of Arlington, he missed the national colors. A fallen chieftain should be shielded by a flag, he thought, and he wished he had brought one with him. Then the lift halted by the hatch and he looked up into the face of Godfrey McHugh. The Lieutenant hadn’t seen many generals, but he recognized McHugh from his newspaper photographs. He saluted again. To his dismay Godfrey ordered, “Clear the area. We’ll take care of the coffin.” Sam Bird and his body bearers scrambled unceremoniously down a yellow metal ladder. . . . Manchester, 1965 LT Samuel R. Bird, Infantry, U. S. Army, of Wichita, Kansas, the officer-in-charge of the Joint Casket Bearer Team was wounded 27 January 1967, on his twenty-seventh birthday, in Vietnam -- then a cavalry company commander -- sustaining a head injury affecting his memory. He would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life on Earth, his recollections for history of 22 November 1963 being the report he wrote contemporaneously, his statements as recalled by others, and the interview he had given William Manchester on 30 April 1964. He passed from this life on 18 October 1984. A story, net-link: www.citadel95.com/sambird.html Some pictures, star-link: roswell.fortunecity.com/conspiracy/27/four_days/photos.html * * * * * * Reply to: angel_marvelzombie@yahoo.com