Clandestine

Chapter 8 - Sixty-Three

It occurs to me now that in 1963, as I travelled throughout the United States, my father was about the same age that I am today: 64. Still strong and active, Malcolm had plenty to keep him busy and he drifted easily into a retiring lifestyle. I was free to contact my father while on my travels but, apart from an occasional postcard, I rarely corresponded with him while I was journeying across the southern states constructing a past for one of the most infamous men in history. Over the course of 1963 I was contacted frequently by Simon von Hammersfield. He would let me know some of the places that he wanted me to visit, as my alias, and connected me to people he knew in Dallas. After one call in the summer of 1963 he encouraged me to check out a burlesque establishment in Dallas, called the Carousel Club. He said that I should stop in, as myself, and I might have an occasion to meet a friend of his, named Jack Ruby. Jack owned the joint and ruled it with an iron fist. The club was hopping and I stayed for a couple of hours. Around midnight while at the bar I saw a man barking orders that I assumed was Jack. I introduced myself to him and said I was a friend of Simon von Hammersfield from New York City. From that point on I didn’t need to pay for another drink and a number of the girls who worked at the club stopped by to say hello. As long as I knew Simon and Jack it would seem I would never be poor or lonely. 

My last assignment as Lee Harvey Oswald came on November 20, 1963 when I walked into a restaurant in the Oak Cliff section of the city. I had been given instructions to be seen in the city acting like an unbalanced lunatic. On this occasion I decided to order a plate of scrambled eggs at 10:00 a.m. and proceed to chastise the wait staff for overcooking them. My version of “Eggs over Shakespeare” was interrupted when everyone in the room paused and looked over towards a police officer who cast a decidedly sinister look of disgust in my direction. I felt that my performance had come to a logical conclusion so I threw a couple of dollars on the table and exited the café. The handsome and large officer never stopped staring at me as I made haste.

I was terminally bored with my current assignment. I was homesick for Europe and tired of the American cowboy culture. I was so relieved when, that same evening, I received a call from Simon asking me to head to Chicago to help a good friend of his who was relocating his office. I said that I would but that after I had assisted his friend I would like to come back to New York City before heading back to the UK; after all, I had a law degree to start... I also asked if the assignment could wait a week, as I wanted to be in town for the presidential visit. Simon told me in no uncertain terms that my assignment in Dallas was complete and that he would wire me a plane ticket from Dallas to Chicago. My accommodation was ready for me in Chicago. I was to leave Dallas on the first plane to Chicago the next day.

It was on November 21st, 1963 that I left Dallas, Texas. I arrived in Chicago and waited for Simon’s friend to call me about the help he needed. As fate would have it I never met the man. On the evening of November 21st, I received a call from Harry Johnson, Simon’s friend, who told me that he was heading out of town and would call me once he returned if he needed any help. My apartment in Chicago had been paid for until the end of the month and, as it seemed that I had nothing else to do, I would set out in the morning to enjoy the city.

The evening of November 21st was the second moment of pure introspection in my life. The first occurred on my train ride to Inverness, on the occasion of my induction into the army.  I recall having a shower, pouring a modest amount of Jack Daniels over a tumbler full of ice, and opening the door to the fifth floor balcony in my room. It was a moment to reflect on my experiences over the previous two years in America. I remember thinking of Eleanor, remembering her joyful smile and razor-sharp sense of humour. I knew she would be just fine. My thoughts then turned to my father whom I dearly missed. I was looking forward to connecting with him soon.

As I opened the local newspaper, the Chicago tribune, I turned to an expose on Senator Bobby Baker and his illegal dealings. Baker was accused of accepting bribes from defence contractors in association with the Vice President, Lyndon Johnson. However, I skimmed the story quickly and paid little attention. As Kierkegaard notes, “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”

I contemplated the enormous changes that were taking place in America in 1963. The U.S. has always been comfortable with reinvention but the pace of change in the country seemed to be quickening. As I looked down at my paper, most notably the changes in society could be seen in the print media itself. At the start of 1963 there were seven daily newspapers in New York City. As technology changed, printers (those individuals who typeset the daily news) were becoming marginalised. As the industry changed, workers resisted and strikes were a normal occurrence. More and more people were turning to television for their daily news and information. By November of 1963 only four New York dailies remained.

Perhaps the greatest change in the media could be seen in August of ’63 when, through the co-operation of several television networks, Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” speech was broadcast live. Truly, on that day, the media changed. In fact one could assert that the Civil Rights movement and the Woman’s Rights movements in the United States were sped up by the presence of television as a new form of news media that relied on content and drama. George Wallace’s ridiculous speech espousing “Segregation Forever” may have opened the door, but it was television that provided the venue for Martin Luther King to jump in and respond, with the correct amount of incredulity. Similarly The Feminine Mystique, a recent best-selling novel, had a significant impact on popular culture, but it was the medium of television that allowed women to watch Marla Thomas in “That Girl”, a popular half-hour sit-com. Now women’s liberation was not only a concept; there was a model for a new female sensibility and, with it, a paradigm was forever shifted.

On the evening of November 21st I felt peaceful and innocent for the very last time. In control of my life and my future, I would return to Britain, end this silly career I had invented for myself, find a trade, and raise some pigeons. The world itself seemed to be moving to a more peaceful and symbiotic state. Both Kennedy and Khrushchev had their hands firmly on the steering wheels of their respective nations, and the need for global military conflict to unseat the balance of power seemed remote. The Korean War was in the rear view mirror and surely an escalation of the conflict in Vietnam could easily be avoided before the sublime became ridiculous.

I opened the balcony door of my apartment and a cool autumn chill hit me in the face. I looked out over Michigan Avenue and planned my investigation of this big, beautiful American city.

At 2 pm on November 22nd 1963, I was enjoying a cruise on the Chicago River, taking in the city’s architectural landmarks. When I disembarked from the ship I saw a crowd gathered outside the Chicago Tribune offices. I asked a young woman in the crowd what had happened and she said the President had been shot and killed in Dallas.

Assassinations were not new to me. I had learned through my intelligence training that governments are occasionally overthrown, but it was difficult to watch the information coming from CBS that afternoon without a heavy heart. I returned to the hotel I was staying at on Michigan Avenue. After a shower I went across the road to an Irish pub to watch the coverage. I was halfway through my second beer when I saw on the screen a picture of the gentleman arrested for the murder of Officer J.D. Tippet and was under suspicion for murdering the President. Moments later the announcer identified the man as Lee Oswald. Clearly my time in America was over.