Let me tell you ’bout a man named Jack Kennedy. He was a handsome feller, most smart and humorous and serious all at t’ same time. He had all those qualities that help you become pres’dent of the United States – beautiful wife, too. Shur ’nuff, he did become pres’dent, by a whisker in th’ election of 1960. He whipped that sonofabitch Nixon, he did – whipped him by a margin ’bout as wide as my pinkie finger here. Dick Nixon wan’t so happy ’bout that. He din’t know that three years later, sump’m would happen would make him pres’dent after all. What that sump’m was is the story I want to tell you ’bout.
Y’see, Jack Kennedy was ‘sassinated by his own people in ’63. That’s right, his own people turned on ‘im and said, “Man, we got to fire you.” Only way to fire a pres’dent is to kill ‘im. So that’s what they did – jus’ like Jules Caesar. They din’t trust ‘im.
You gonna say, “C’mon, that don’t happen now’days. Least ways it don’t happen in the dem’cratic ‘public of these United States. It only comes ‘bout ‘n countries like VeetNam and South Asia and those African places. Can’t happen here.”
You don’t think so. Listen to my story, then you tell me ’bout p’litical ‘sassinations. They can happen ‘most anywhere. When they do happen, watch out.
“What do you mean, watch out?”
I’ll tell you ’bout that later. Listen to th’story th‘sassination itself. It’s enough to curlup yer toes.
The story starts with the Bay of Pigs. Do you know ’bout that bay? No? It’s in Cuba – big island south of Florida run by a feller named Castro. Fee-dell Castro. We hated that guy. Still do, madder’fack. We were all set ‘n ‘vana – gamblin’, women, wine and booze – we could go there an’ do all things we go to Las Vegas for now – ‘cept it was cheaper an’ the Latin women were better. Beautiful an’ eager. Hardly any clap. An’ the money! Mafia types and their hangers on all over makin’ tons of it. Then Feedell comes ‘long like some sort of righteous Jesus man and whips all th’ ‘mericans out of his temple. Honest. He thought he was better’n us. Just come in outta th’ hills and took over the place. Said he wasn’t gonna tol’rate all that sin in his Cuba – gonna clean th’ place up. That’s what he did. Anybody din’t like it – he threw ‘em in jail. That’s if you were lucky. An’ we hated him for it.
That all happened in ‘59. Rev’lution started on New Year’s, that’s a fack. Just drove those rats right outta th’ temple. Rightaway, the spooks start to figure how to get ridda th’ guy. You know – sabotage, paramilitaries, assassins, special ops – the gamut. Subversive shit everywhere. They want to kill ‘im or get somebody else to kill ‘im, or start a revolution or do anything to get that basturd. I mean, not only did he kick us out – he as a commie. That’s right – a low-down commie good fer nothin’ bastard. We had to kow tow to those commie assholes all over Europe, all over China, Korea, Indochina – hell we had to tip-toe ‘round ‘em in Berlin! Now we have a commie sittin’ in Havana! That’s like yer neighbor comin’ to take a shit in yer backyard! I tell you we were mad as fuckin’ hell. Did those commies spit on the Munro Doctrine or what?
So Feedell goes to his friends in Moss-cow an’ he says – you know what he says? – he says, “Those ‘mericans wanna get me. I needs’m guns an’ shit, to hold ‘em off. What can you give me, Nikeeta?” Nikeeta says, “How ‘bout somethin’ better’n guns? We’ll make those ‘mericans respect you.” Next thing you know we got ballistic missiles pointin’ at us! That’s aright – nucular warhead missiles pointed right at Miami and ev’ry other city right up the east coast. Think ’bout that for a minnit. That guy was a fuckin’ time bomb. Kruschev, too.
But runnin’ Castro off th’ range turned out harder than we thought. We wanted to get rid of ‘im, but make it look like someone else did it, don’t you see? We din’t want to get knicked for that one. No way. So we couldn’t send in the special forces pukes an’ shoot the place up. I mean, what are we, cowboys or sumthin’? Gotta problem? Send in the SEALs! We gotta be a little diss-creet ’bout this, an’ you know ‘mericans ain’t so good ’bout lyin’ low. They do better jus’ go in an’ shoot th’ place up.
So what happens? We plan this Bay of Pigs thing. We get these unhappy Cubans playin’ GI Joe, an’ ‘fore you know it we got some mean fuckin’ killers workin’ for us. They plan their own invasion with us – train ‘em up, give ‘em weapons, all kinds of logistics. We keep it all a big secret, like Feedell won’t find out what’s goin’ on. We tell those unhappy Cubans, “Look, you go in there, yer fellow Cubans in country will back you up. They don’t like Castro any more’n you do. They gonna back you up, and you cannot fail.”
“Yessirree, you gonna take that country back from Feedell, jus’ like he took it from you, and we gonna help you. That’s right – it’ll be a real counter-rev’lutionary rev’lution.”
Well no shit, that’s what we said to ‘em. Got ‘m rilied up so’s they actually make a landing at the Bay of Pigs – Baja de Cochinos – right where the CIA planned to put ‘em. Put ‘em in harm’s way, they did. ‘Cus you know what happened? Feedell’s army’s waitin’ right there – they jus’ cut ‘em to pieces. That’s right. Trapped ‘em in the swamps with all the skeeters ‘n gaters ‘n stuff, an’ jus’ cut ‘em to pieces. Caught ‘em all and kilt th’ rest. It was pitiful. Took ‘em jus’ three days. Three days an’ th’ whole op’ration was over.
So what’s all this gotta do with Jack? Th’ planning for this whole Cochinos op’ration starts before Jack even takes the oath of office. Fact, the planning starts before he’s even ‘lected. Those spooks, they don’t care who’s pres’dent. They get Mafia types to do the dirty stuff an’ they think they’re smart as shit. They do what they like – don’t matter who’s in the White House. Lookee this: Jack fires Allen Dulles over the Bay of Pigs blow-up, an’ who chairs the committee that investigates the pres’dent’s murder? Do you think I don’t know? Allen Dulles! Pres’dents come an’ go. People who count stick aroun’.
Problem is, if th’invasion succeeds, nobody cares we’re behind it. Ever’body happy, ‘cept Feedel, an’ he’s prob’ly dead. But if the plan fails, ever’body knows we’re behind it, an’ we look awful bad. Awful bad. But the CIA, it doesn’t think ’bout failure. No it don’t. Cuba’s our backyard, after all. You don’t think ’bout failure in yer own backyard. I mean, what can go wrong in Cuba? We took that place from the Chicos an’ we gonna keep it.
Here’s the thing. The spooks ‘spected Jack to back up those unhappy Cubans with planes an’ shit. That’s right – you go in there with close air s’port – ‘copters an’ machine guns an’ shit – an’ you jus’ cut Castro’s guerrillas to pieces. You jus’ turn them rev’lutionaries into little pieces of doo-doo right ‘fore yore gunsights, an’ you don’ worry ’bout a thing. ‘Cus you know why? Th’ain’t no rev’lutionaries left! They all gone, an’ our Cubans jus’ march right into Havana, like Feedel did sixteen months before!
So why did Jack ‘low such a hare brained plan to go ‘head? He’s a smart guy, right? So what’s he doin’ with a scheme that’s got more holes an’ weak spots than some kinda old cobweb or somethin’? I mean, march into Havana? It’s not real.
Well that shows the power of no thinkin’. Jack’s a busy man. Pres’dent has a lot goin’ on in his new job – takes a while to get ‘quainted with ever’thing. The gen’rals and the spooks come to him with this plan, an’ they talk like it’s a done deal – all set to go.
You trust ‘em an’ you say – alright, if you say so. Looks okay, s’long as it works. You guys sure it’s gonna work?
The gen’rals an’ spooks say we looked at this one fuckways an’ shitways, leftways an’ right. It’s gonna work, by gum. We know it is.
Jack says, “One thing: we ain’t goin’ in there with our own troops. You understand that?”
“Yes chief, got it.”
“That means air support, too. No air support units go in.”
“And no ships. We have ships for logistical support, and that’s it.”
“Right up an’ down the line. No combat units, no way whatsoever. The Cubans gonna do it all.”
“I’m not gonna change my mind about that.”
“Yes, indeed. Rock solid, man.”
So that’s how they left it. No combat s’port fum th’mericans. But you know what? The gen’rals an’ th’ spooks figgered they had the pres’dent on this one. They knew that if it came to it, he’d let them send in some airborne units. We were talkin’ ’bout takin’ out Commies in Cuba, f’ God’s sake! No pres’dent would back off with that shit comin’ down.
So those Cubans get bogged down in the swamps, some fifteen hunnit beggars with M-16s and CIA radios to keep ‘em comp’ny. The gen’rals an’ spooks go to Jack an’ they say, “Mr. Pres’dent. Things not lookin’ so good out there. Those Cubans – they gettin’ cut to pieces in them swamps. We gotta send in some planes an’ ‘copters to help get them up to dry land. They gonna die in there.”
Jack says, “Did you hear me, or what? I said no way in fricking hell was I gonna do that. Now you’re asking me to do that?”
“Mr. Pres’dent. This is nuts. You can’t let this whole operation fail. You gotta help those guys.”
Jack gets so mad he loses it. “Get the fuck outta here,” he tells them. “Don’t ever think I’m gonna say something an’ not mean it.”
So the gen’rals an’ the spooks, they can’t believe what they jus’ heard. They knew Jack was young an’ green, they knew he might need some ‘suasion, but they din’t know he was a fuckin’ sissy. My God – he jus’ let those guys get shot, right in front of us! He has no balls, that’s what. You can’t be pres’dent if you haven’t gotta pair. Man – he is a fuckin’ sissy – lace curtain Irish – and a pamprous mackerel snapper on top of it. Look at that haircut and the way he talks. He couldn’t stand up to a goddamn seal.
Jack, meantime, realizes he can’t trust the gen’rals and the spooks. He can’t trust them to come up with plans that work. He can’t trust them to take him at his word. He can’t trust them to act with any fucking discretion. Worst off, he can’t trust them, period. More he thinks about it, the more he sees the gen’rals an’ spooks set ‘im up. They knew all along they would need air s’port, knew all along they would have to ask him for it. They didn’t ask for it ahead of time ‘cus they knew he’d say no. So they asked him when they figured he’d be forced to say yes. It’s the oldest game in office politics – keep the boss out of the loop until he’s fucked if he doesn’t approve what you want. And he didn’t see what the assholes were up to – didn’t figure out their bullshit ahead of time. Too busy, too distracted, too ready to think his staff was loyal and honest. How could they? I’m about as shrewd as they come, he thought, and they fucked me over. God dammit! I can’t ever trust those guys again! What’s worse, they don’t trust me, and everyone knows it. And we can’t start over, unless I crush those guys. They know that, too.
So he calls in his brother Bobby and asks him to keep an eye on the CIA for him. He tries to show his staff he’s not a total pushover when it comes to Feedel. He even has Bobby oversee more plots to mongoose the commies in Havana. He goes back an’ forth with the Cuba-castrate-Castro shit. Get rid of the guy – no, make peace an’ try to bring him back to us. Support the Cuban exiles, but don’t let them get carried away with any more wild-ass shit. Jack tried to play both sides, and you know what happens when a politician does that? He gets fucked over. Nobody trusts you and you get fucked over.
So Jack gets off to a bad start with the Bay of Pigs, and nothing he did could save him after that. Don’t mistake my meaning – the gen’rals and spooks weren’t thinking ’bout firing him – not yet. But the seed’s there. They hate him jus’ as much as he distrusts them. An’ they fear him. Jack had heart, courage, a brain and power – charisma, too. He had his brother Bobby by his side – an’ the two of them, sometimes when they’re together they think like gangsters. “Don’t get mad, get even.” It’s all business.
Honestly, the Bay was a Big Breach, an’ ev’thing that came afterward jus’ made things worse. By mid ’63, jus’ two years later, they’re figuring out how they can get the guy. You know why? ‘Cus of the Cuban missile crisis in ’62. That’s right. Jus’ eighteen months after the Bay of Pigs, Feedel fucked us again, big time. He brings in those commie missiles an’ the pres’dent backs down ag’in! The pres’dent jus’ was not gonna go to war with the commies, no matter how many chances they give him! Fuck that Kennedy! We could blast those Russians with our nukes before they knew what hit ‘em. They couldn’t kill more’n twenty million ‘mericans, max. Small price to pay. Really. The gen’rals couldn’t believe Jack would pass on this opportunity. We would never have a better chance – not ever!
After missiles ‘er gone, Kennedy starts to blather ‘bout peace! That’s right. He tries to get the Soviets to see things our way, an’ we try to see things theirs. Did you ever? We outnumber their warheads ten to one, and he’s talking to them! Our submarines alone could take them out. We don’t even need our ICBMs. We jus’ lay them to waste. What does Kennedy do? He gives a speech at ‘merican Uneevers’ty where he says we have to cozy up to the fucking Communists! That’s right. It’s like saying we have to see things from the terrorists’ point of view. That’s how we live in harmony! You can’t live in harmony with people who want to destroy you! You have to destroy them first! That’s the only way!
But Jack’s got a different buzz. He thinks no way you can start shooting nucular missiles at each other. You can’t kill millions of people in each other’s cities. No victory is worth a massacre like that. So that’s what he says. He says we gotta live with th’ Soviets, one way or th’ other. No wars. An’ he drives the gen’rals nuts, ‘cus that’s what they live an’ die for – war against the Soviets! Victory.
The last straw is VeetNam. Jack wants to leave Veetnam. We spend almost ten years getting into that place, an’ he wants to get us out! He didn’t say in a speech he was gonna pull us out, but they could tell he was gonna go soft. He wouldn’t commit. He always asked for more information. Given the right chance an’ enough time, they knew he’d smash their dreams of destruction. Let him get reelected, and he will really screw us. We have to take him out before the reelection campaign starts.
That’s what happens with pol’ticians when your people don’t trust you. They take you out. They don’t trust you to do what’s best for th’ republic. They don’t trust you to do what’s best for them. So they remove you. Only one way to remove a sitting ruler. Actually, two ways: private ‘sassination an’ public ‘sassination. ‘Sassination in private does the job, but public ‘sassination’s better ‘cus it sends the right message. Everyone who matters knows what jus’ happened, even if ever’one pretends somethin’ else happened.
You know who matters here, don’t ‘cha? Future pres’dents in partickler – their ‘visers an’ press lackeys, too. You want those guys to know what happens when they go off the reservation. They don’t come back. They get what’s coming. That’s right. You can do a lot as pres’dent, but you don’t go ‘gainst the gen’rals an’ the spooks. You can fire a gen’ral or cut some program, but you can’t betray the whole country. You do that, an’ you’re gonna take a bullit. They’re gonna put a bullit right in your head.
* * *
Okay, so Jack is saying goodbye to his daughter Caroline at the White House. He knows he might not come back, you see, and he tells her:
“Dear, I”m not sure when I’ll see you again.”
Caroline says, “Daddy, aren’t you coming back on Sunday?”
“Well sure, honey, I expect I’ll be home then.”
“Then why did you say you weren’t sure when you would see me again?”
“I’ve just been feeling a little down, dear, that’s why I said it.”
“I’ll miss you, Daddy.”
“When you’re in Texas!”
“It’s only going to be a few days.”
“Why do you have to go?”
“Lyndon says the Democrats in Texas are beating each other up. He asked me to go out there to settle things down.”
“Why can’t he settle things down?”
“I asked him the same thing. Why can’t you take care of that? You know the state.”
“What did he say?”
“He said some jobs need the president. This is one of them.”
“Daddy, what do you think?”
“Lyndon’s the biggest damn – sorry, the biggest liar in the state of Texas – that’s saying something.”
“So why are you going, Dad?”
“I just feel like I have to. It’s my destiny.”
So Jack and Jackie go to Texas together. They leave Washington on Thursday and fly to San Antonio. They’re scheduled for five cities in two days: San Antonio, Houston, Fort Worth, Dallas, and Austin. By Thursday, November 21, they’re in their hotel room in Fort Worth, relaxing before they go to bed. They’re tired, and already have to think about the next day, when Jack gives yet another speech before they fly to Dallas. Jack receives a room-to-room call on the phone.
* * *
“Hi, Mr. President. It’s Lyndon.”
“Fuck it, I need to talk with you.”
“I’ll be right down.”
Jack answers Lyndon’s knock and let’s him into the suite.
Lyndon and Jackie say hi, and Lyndon goes to work.
“I want John in my car tomorrow.”
“John Connally? Why?”
“He’s the governor of the state!”
“That’s right. That’s why he’s riding in my car.”
“John and I have something to talk about.”
“You can’t talk with him some other time? You two’ve been on the phone almost ev ery week planning this trip.”
“It’s just terribly important that he sit in my car. Something could happen to him up there.”
Jack looked at his vice-president a little quizically, a little sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I just mean unexpected things can happen,” Lyndon said, his voice rising a bit. “Nothing in particular.”
“Well that doesn’t sound like a good reason to change plans to me. Does it to you?”
“Goddamit. I’m just asking a fucking favor. Can’t you give it?” Lyndon sounds angry now.
“You don’t think my coming out here for you is a fucking favor? He stays in my car.”
Lyndon turns abruptly and walks out of the room, without saying goodnight.
Jackie, who had been half listening, asked, “What did he get so made about?”
Jack responded briefly, “Oh, that’s just Lyndon.”
Jackie looked at the door for a moment. “I don’t trust that man.”
* * *
So next morning Jack gives a breakfast speech in Fort Worth on November 22. It’s not a barn-burner – not over scrambled eggs and coffee – but it’s powerful good – good the way Texans like it. That’s a problem, cuz a lot of Texans just hate Jack Kennedy. He can give a speech, and they gave him their state’s electoral votes in the 1960 election, but they hate him nevertheless. Not clear why. Jack didn’t go out of his way to pick a fight with them, the way Bobby did with the mob. Jack didn’t take away the oil depletion allowance or anything like that. Partly they hate him cuz he seems like a sissy – a powerful, prettified sissy. That Camelot stuff? Texans think that’s a lot of horseshit. They look at Jack and see a rich pretty boy who’s too big for his Harvard yacht club britches. They especially don’t like the way he talks. They just hate ‘im. They hate Bobby, too. The whole family. Horseshit.
But we gotta get ‘round to the killin’ now, don’t we? That’s the whole point, right? Gotta think about the blood! You know that movie, right? There Will Be Blood. The whole time you wonder what’s gonna happen. Well here it’s a beautiful November day in Dallas: sun’s out an’ the skies ‘er clear. Perfect for shooting. No rain ‘n mist gonna cloud up yer gunsight. You just point that gun and aim straight down the barrel at that limo goin’, say, three miles an hour. That’s right! Those Secret Service drivers slowed down after Kennedy got hit with the first shot. Did you ever? What fuckin’ Secret Service driver takes his foot off the accelerator after the pres’dent’s hit? And keeps it off until his his head is sprayed all over th’ back of th’ car? Then he speeds away to the hospital, after the pres’dent’s got no brains.
I tell you, when the car slowed down, that’s when the turkey shoot starts. Connally get’s hit. It’s a wonder Jackie and Nellie don’t get hit, too. The shots come so close together nobody can really tell how many there were. That’s right. Just like a turkey shoot, ‘cept the turkey is the pres’dent of the United States. An’ the assassins knowed what they’re doin’. Yep, they know how to aim down a barrel an’ kill someone real sweet. That car’s gonna roll along real slow, till Kennedy’s no more.
Damn straight. Lookee here. That shooter just blew his brain out. I mean it. He jus’ blew his brains all over the back of that limo-zeen. Hiz head sprayed all the way back to the motorcycle cops riding off the left rear of the car.
Well good God man, what more evidence and investigation do we need? Why we still talking ‘bout where the shooters were? Do you think a shooter in the school book depository, sixth floor’s gonna spray his brains over the back of the car?
That rifle they found – what was it? A Carcano – ain’t worth shit. It’s a twenty-fi’ doller piece a’ shit. The only reason they tagged it as the murder weapon is that’s what they got in that backyard photograph they made up of Oswald. What a collage! Once you have Oswald holding the Carcano in that photograph, you have to make it the murder weapon. Otherwise people say, how many guns did Oswald have, anyway? He’s not a collector. So he just has the Carcano.
Problem is, the Carcano can’t shoot. Really, it’s a primitive weapon. No assassin would use it. It’s one step up from a popgun. Okay, it’s got some power and a little range, but it’s not accurate and you have to cock it between each shot. No assassin who wanted to hit a moving target at long range would use that gun.
But aside from that, we know Kennedy was hit from fairly short range with a real rifle. We’ll never know what kind it was. The shooter was at about two o’clock. The shot just snapped his head back and blew his brains all over the back of the car. When Jackie climbed out onto the trunk to retrieve his brain tissue, she didn’t know how important that simple act would be. She told Mrs. Connally in the car, “I have a piece of his brain here in my hands.” She said that several times.
You put that together with what we see in the film, and it’s obvious the head shot comes from about two o’clock. Some people think he was hit twice within a split second. Two times in the head right at the end of the attack. We’ll never know. The Parkland doctors wanted to do a proper analysis of his wounds, but the feds wouldn’t let them. The feds took Jack’s body to Bethesda and they fucked it up good. I mean fucked it. The autopsy they did there was the worst piece of work ever. And this was the president. Who had just been shot. Can you believe they fucked up the autopsy?
“Hey look, maybe they wanted to screw it up,” Joe says.
All they needed was a lone shooter. It didn’t matter that much where the shooter was located.
“Sure it mattered! They had the Oswald story all made up ahead of time.”
That’s correct. Oswald with the Carcano in the TBSD. You have to have all your clues lined up. Thus you can’t have any shots coming in from the front or the side. Only from the rear.
“What I don’t get is why they shut down the Parkland analysis. They could have let them have a look.”
Yeah, but they knew the findings at Bethesda wouldn’t agree. You don’t want two sets of findings.
“Who’s they, anyway?”
That’s the interesting thing, buddy. People follow orders. They don’t have to be in on the plans. If you tell the Secret Service people that the body’s going to Bethesda for an autopsy, you don’t have to say anymore. Parkland can screw it. The guys with wires in their ears are going to take that body away, no questions asked. They don’t need to know why the Parkland doctors can’t have a longer look.
“But the Parkland observations did get out, didn’t they?”
Sure they did. And who do you trust: the doctors on the scene, or the military doctors working in the middle of the night? Nobody trusts the Bethesda autopsy. Nobody. It would have been better not even to do it. Say you don’t want to do it for the sake of the family. I mean, an autopsy is a kind of body desecration. They could say they don’t want to desecrate the president’s body more than it already is.
“Don’t you think people would object to burying the body without figuring out the exact cause of death?”
The feds could say he was shot in the head. They could use fancy language to describe the wound, too, just like they did in the actual autopsy report. They didn’t have to do a real analysis to come up with the bullshit they came up with.
“You have to appear to do real analysis, though, or people won’t believe what you say.”
No one believes them anyway! A dog sent in to lick the president’s wounds would have done a better job than those doctors did. If I’d been asked to produce an autopsy report like the one they did, I would have resigned on the spot.
“People don’t do that with their careers.”
“Your career is your life. It was back then.”
Anyway, they signed off on a piece of bullshit – a falsified report – and the Warren Commission said we have what we need right here. The Commission didn’t question it.
* * *
One more thing I gotta say. You know that guy, Jack Ruby? He’s a Mafia hit man. Ran a strip club in Dallas and did contracts for the mob on the side. ‘Kay, I don’t know if he shot anyone ‘fore he shot Oswald, but he was a mob asset. You know, the wise guys could call on him to do stuff they don’t wanna do. Hell, Ruby’s a wise guy, but he’s not Italian.
Now Oswald, he’s even more interesting. We’re supposed to think he’s a lone nut. First he’s in the Marine Corps, then he goes to Japan, Atsugi air base or some place like that, and does signals intelligence or some such shit for U. S. intelligence. No kidding. You bet the Warren report doesn’t include that part.
Goin’ to Moscow for a year, you can’t hide that. Oswald’s supposed to be a defector! You tell me if defectors get back into the U. S. jus’ like that. Oswald’s got an FBI handler, an’ U. S. intelligence just shuttles him around – N’Orlins, Dallas, wherever they need him. He’s an asset, he is, but he sure don’t work in safety. He’ out there in the cold, and they’ll do whatever they like with ‘im.
Now tell me, mate: a U. S. intelligence asset’s hit by a mobbed up bagman in a p’lice station because the asset’s charged with murdering the pres’dent. Does that sound reasonable to you? Sure it’s reasonable – if Oswald’s a patsy! Do you think investigators wanted to check whether Oswald’s actually a patsy? You bet. They did not.
People keep sayin’, we’ll never know. We’ll never know. We do know – we just don’t want to thinkabout it. That’s right. What kinda psychological issues the country gonna have if they watch their pres’dent get killed, an’ they don’t do that much to find out what happened? Fact, when people come along an’ say, you gotta take ‘nother look at this, they get silenced. Jim Garrison, silenced. Mary Meyer, killed by the canal. Never caught the guy who did it. Don’t take a genius. Country’s living a lie, and it knows it. Fifty years later, and it knows it.
I seen all kindsa dishonesty, mate, but you know what? Collective dishonesty’s the worst.
So that’s how Jack got kilt in Dallas. I liked the guy, y’know? He hadda pair, for sure. You know what else he had, son? Heart full of fortitude. With balls, you can take your enemies down. With fortitude, you c’n stand up to yer enemies when they take you down. That’s what Jack did, mate. THE END