Who Killed JFK?

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A few days ago I wrote about “simple answers”, and maybe it would be good to have a simple answer to all the questions surrounding the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Of course, that’s never going to happen. 

I do find it rather interesting that the official White House website makes no claim at having a definitive answer, but adroitly sidesteps the entire issue in their short biography of the 35th president:

On November 22, 1963, when he was hardly past his first thousand days in office, John Fitzgerald Kennedy was killed by an assassin’s bullets as his motorcade wound through Dallas, Texas. Kennedy was the youngest man elected President; he was the youngest to die.

In contrast, the official stories clearly state that Abraham Lincoln was killed by John Wilkes Booth, that William McKinley died at the hands of “a deranged anarchist”, and that James Garfield was shot by “an embittered attorney.” Even though names aren’t always mentioned, history has recorded them. For the curious, McKinley’s assassin was Leon Czolgosz, and Garfield was mortally wounded by Charles Guiteau.

Yet all the White House says about JFK is that he was killed by “an assassin”. This, despite the 26-volume Warren Commission Report purporting to present all the facts, all the evidence, and all the answers about John Kennedy’s death.

Of course, nobody believes the Warren Report.

Over the last 50 years, a lot of men and women have made a name for themselves — along with a decent living — by continuing the investigation into the most well-researched crime of our time. It’s rather mind-boggling, when you think about it, really. Thousands of witnesses, thousands of photographs, thousands upon thousands of pages written about the shooting, yet nobody really knows what happened, how it happened, or why it happened.

Every year during November, television stations begin replaying old footage. The Zapruder film is shown over and over. It’s been analyzed, criticized, cleaned up, restored, and viewed by millions. Each year, we see those same news clips, too. Jack Ruby killing Lee Harvey Oswald. A very young Dan Rather reporting events to the public. A weary Walter Cronkite slowly removing his eyeglasses and breaking the news that “The president is dead.”

Even though most of what we know or think we know about the assassination is questionable, there is one definite fact I can share here: Next to Abraham Lincoln, no president has had more books written about him than John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Many of those books, of course, focus on the events in Dallas, 1963.

A simple entry at Amazon.com for “Kennedy  Assassination” returns a staggering seven thousand results! Those aren’t all single titles, I’m sure. There are no doubt separate listings for various formats. The listing includes videos, too.  Even so, seven thousand reports about a single moment in time makes it clear that, quite obviously, a lot of people are still looking for answers.

I’ve read a few of those assassination books. I’m not going to list titles because, to tell the truth, many of the books and their authors have become blurred in my mind. Reading about the assassination is a challenge, I’ve found, because facts aren’t really facts.

It’s the same in any attempt to step back in time and research historical events — not a phenomenon that occurs only with the JFK assassination. In any quest for information about a past occurrence, you’ll find facts changing from one source to another. You’ll find speculation tossed into the mix. You’ll find opinions, too.

In doing historical research, I learned long ago not to believe everything I read but to keep an open mind and as the old adage goes, literally “consider the source”. Speaking of source material, any historian — even an amateur one like moi — will tell you nothing beats original source material. There’s a huge difference, for example, in reading a letter written by Thomas Jefferson and reading another historian’s thoughts about the letter.

While reading various books about JFK over the years, I’ve found instances where facts not only differed from one book to the next, but where they differed from one page to the next within a single book.

Who’s a girl to trust? Who’s a girl to believe?

That’s up to the girl — in this case, me.

No, I don’t know whom to trust. Usually, when doing historical research, I can read all the “alleged facts” — from many sources — and come to a conclusion that satisfies me. That is to say, I can review the material available and form an opinion of my own.

With the JFK assassination, I can’t do that. There’s too much information, too many different voices, too many competing theories — many of which do actually make sense.  Add in Kennedy’s political maneuverings and the question of who wanted him dead becomes moot. Who didn’t want him dead?

Some theories, of course, make more sense than others. I’m much more willing to give credence to the possibility of Lyndon Johnson being involved than to buy-in to the off-the-wall theory that Jackie Kennedy contracted to have her husband killed that day in Dallas. Yep. That’s one of the theories going around.

What about Oswald? A lone gunman? A trained CIA operative? A Manchurian candidate?

Claw Shaw? James Files? Oh, wait! Let’s see…somewhere in the clutter that has become MLWR (my little writing room) I have a recent edition of one of those tabloids with a screaming headline of another man claiming to have been the one who fired the fatal shot. Could it be true?

Were there two shots? Three? Four? Who’s on first? Who were the Babushka Lady and the Umbrella Man? What happened to the Three Tramps? Was Howard Hunt among them?

Personally, my conclusion, after studying as much evidence as my feeble brain can hold, is that it was Colonel Mustard in the library with a pipe wrench.

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What do other bloggers have to say?

Sunflowers and Starry Nights

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Have you ever seen the works of Vincent Van Gogh? I don’t mean in books or magazines. I’m talking about the experience of standing in front of an actual Van Gogh painting. It’s breath-taking. Truly.

I was fortunate to see a collection of Van Gogh’s works on exhibit at the St. Louis Art Museum several years ago.  If you ever have the opportunity, take it. No matter how many times we see his paintings in the media, nothing compares to seeing them in person.

Van Gogh has been on my mind lately. It began last week when our family sat down for a game of Masterpiece. Eight-year-old Mark immediately recognized the artist’s likeness in the center of the game board and launched at once into the ear-cutting story. Kids are fascinated by that sort of thing, you know.

Self-Portrait, Spring 1887, Oil on pasteboard,...

Self-Portrait, Spring 1887, Oil on pasteboard, 42 × 33.7 cm., Art Institute of Chicago (F 345). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For the last few days, it seems that everywhere I look, I see reproductions of Van Gogh’s most famous paintings:

Still Life: Vase with Twelve Sunflowers

Van Gogh planned a dozen “sunflower” paintings to decorate the studio he shared with Paul Gauguin.

Starry Night.

Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night. Oil on can...

Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night. Oil on canvas, 73×92 cm, 28¾×36¼ in. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Vincent van Gogh was born on March 30, 1853, in Groot-Zundert, Netherlands. He was a post-impressionist painter whose work influenced 20th-century art. Van Gogh’s paintings are noted for their brilliant colors and the emotions they evoke.

Throughout his life, Van Gogh struggled with mental illness. He made little money from his painting and was virtually unknown at the time of his death. He died in France on July 29, 1890, from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

Biography Channel: Vincent Van Gogh – Alienated Artist

As for me, I am rather often uneasy in my mind, because I think that my life has not been calm enough; all those bitter disappointments, adversities, changes keep me from developing fully and naturally in my artistic career.”    – Vincent van Gogh

For a lighter look at Vincent Van Gogh, pick up Starry Night, the movie.

Silly, yes, but fun to watch. It’s in our family movie collection.

It’s sad to think of how he suffered in his lifetime and how little recognition and reward he received. We look upon him now as one of the greatest artists who have ever lived. I wish he could have known.

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Of Course There’s a Wolf in Here!

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Why should I be surprised?

 

I first became aware of the wolf while listening to one of my ambient soundscapes. What was that faint, distant howling? Odd, I’d never heard it before, but there it was, as plaintive and distinct as if I were really sitting in  forest clearing. A wolf’s cry.

Dakota, a grey wolf at the UK Wolf Conservatio...

Dakota, a grey wolf at the UK Wolf Conservation Trust, howling on top of a snowy hill. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I didn’t see the wolf right away. Not until I sat down for an afternoon meditation yesterday. At once, the words came into my head:

“You have to give the wolf a name before you can proceed.”

What wolf? I looked, and there he was, staring back at me with glowing eyes.

“Fire eyes,” I said. “His name is Fire Eyes.”

 

 

Now, for the record, I didn’t actually check to see whether the shaggy creature was male or not, but this is my meditation, my imagination, and if I say the wolf is male, the wolf is male.  I sighed and accepted the fact that I’d be traveling now with a wolf at my side.

Probably left over from Odin’s visit, I thought. Odin has two wolves, you know. Geri and Freki. Maybe one stayed behind, although you’d think I would have noticed.

A short time later, my meditation ended, I began browsing through links I’d gathered about the moon.  Yeah. That’s when I had one of those palm to forehead, “Duh!” moments.

Wolves. Howling at the moon. Full moons. Werewolves. No! I’m not going to spend my time with a werewolf. Thank you, but no, thank you.  There was a time, maybe back when I was about 8 or 9 years old, when I think I actually believed in werewolves. Of course, that was back in the days when “Gregory Graves” was on local TV hosting “Friday Fright Night” and my friends and I enjoyed being scared silly.

I even remember having a dream once of a werewolf slipping into my room and coming toward my bed. It was so real! I could hear him panting, could feel his hot, wet breath on my cheek. I opened my eyes to find my beloved Tuffy Lee — my dog — at my side.

I don’t believe in werewolves now.  Werewolves, vampires, and “shape-shifters” who can transform themselves into myriad creatures are all the rage in fiction and film, but I have no interest in reading — or writing — paranormal stories.

What is the attraction? Why have these stories become so popular? How has our culture taken these myths and legends and turned them into something so different from the original? In the past, werewolves were feared, persecuted, and put to death. Now, we seem to embrace them.

Is it the wildness of the creatures? Do we crave a power that we’re unable to find in our own civilized existence? Is it freedom that draws us?

Maybe I can answer that question. I said I don’t believe in werewolves. True. I also said I don’t care to read or write about werewolves. True, too…except that in the past — about 15 years ago — I was actively involved in LARP — Live Action Role Play. And, yep, you guessed it, I was a living, breathing werewolf.

I don’t remember my name, I don’t remember much about my character at all. But I do remember my pack. I remember howling at the moon as we played our game on a late summer’s night.

There is something about the werewolf mythology that speaks of freedom and power, but I think it speaks, too, of a bond of kinship, a sense of belonging, a feeling of shared experience.  Maybe that’s what’s we’re really looking for.

 

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Sidetracked by Science

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Yep, getting sidetracked already. I was planning to have a quiet, contemplative week. I figured I’d do a bit of meditation, maybe practice some yoga, and I’d definitely light a few candles and burn a little nag champa incense. I was going to focus my thoughts on dreaming, explore dream interpretations, and wander through a few figments of my imagination.

the_day_the_earth_stood_still(1).jpg

The Day the Earth Stood Still

But then I ran headlong into science.  First, there was The Day the Earth Stood Still airing on the Sci-Fi channel.  Anybody remember that 1951 movie? “Klaautu barada nikto!” Except that it wasn’t the old movie I remembered. It was a 2008 remake. Oh, well. I left my honey-bunny to his viewing and came into my writing room.

There, I found myself exploring not dreams, but the moon. Not even sure how I got there, but Popular Mechanics was asking — also in 2008 — about ownership of our lunar satellite.

From there, somehow, I found myself transported to a science site.  Oh, the articles I found! I got hooked, and I was off on more different tangents than I could keep up with at once.

Funny thing, I never really liked science all that much in school. Now, I’m eager to read more, learn more, and maybe even do more. They still sell chemistry sets, don’t they?

This morning, I found this lovely little button. I’ll wear it proudly.

Science…it’s not just for nerds anymore

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