"When They Kill A President," by Roger Craig

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Article: 529 of sgi.talk.ratical
From: [email protected] (dave "who can do? ratmandu!" ratcliffe)
Subject: "When They Kill A President," by Roger Craig
Summary: unpublished manuscript written by a man who *didn't* change his story
Organization: Silicon Graphics, Inc.
Date: Mon, 23 Mar 1992 15:21:34 GMT
Lines: 2180


  Roger Craig was a deputy Sheriff in Dallas at the time of the assassination
  of President Kennedy.  He was a member of a group of men from Dallas County
  Sheriff James Eric "Bill" Decker's office that was directed to stand out in 
  front of the Sheriff's office on Main Street (at the corner of Houston) and
  "take no part whatsoever in the security of that motorcade."  Once he heard
  the first shot, Roger Craig immediately bolted towards Houston Street.  His
  participation in the formative hours of the investigation during the rest 
  of that day and into the evening included observations and experiences that 
  would have singlehandedly destroyed the Warren Commission fairy tale before
  a grand jury or a Congressional investigation.

  Roger Craig was named the Dallas Sheriff's Department "Officer of the Year"
  in 1960 by the Dallas Traffic Commission.  He received four promotions 
  while he was deputy Sheriff.  Among the most important events he witnessed:

      * at approximately 12:40 p.m., deputy Craig was standing on the 
        south side of Elm Street when he heard a shrill whistle coming 
        from the north side of Elm and turned to see a man--wearing 
        faded blue trousers and a long sleeved work shirt made of some 
        type of grainy material--come running down the grassy knoll 
        from the direction of the TSBD.  He saw a light green Rambler 
        station wagon coming slowly west on Elm Street, pull over to 
        the north curb and pick up the man coming down the hill.  By 
        this time the traffic was too heavy for him to be able to reach 
        them before the car drove away going west on Elm.

      * after witnessing the above scene, deputy Craig ran to the 
        command post at Elm and Houston to report the incident to the
        authorities.  When he got there and asked who was involved in
        the investigation, a man turned to him and said "I'm with the 
        Secret Service."  Craig recounted what he had just seen.  This
        "Secret Service" man showed little interest in Craig's 
        description of the people leaving, but seemed extremely 
        interested in the description of the Rambler to the degree
        this was the only part of the recounting that he wrote down.
        (On 12/22/67, Roger Craig learned from Jim Garrison that this 
        man's name was Edgar Eugene Bradley, a right wing preacher from 
        North Hollywood, California and part-time assistant to Carl 
        McIntire, the fundamentalist minister who had founded the
        American Counsel of Christian Churches.  Then-governor Ronald 
        Reagan refused to grant the extradition request from Garrison
        for the indictment of Bradley during the New Orleans Probe.)

      * immediately after this Craig was told by Sheriff Decker to help
        the police search the TSBD.  Deputy Craig was one of the two
        people to find the three rifle cartridges on the floor beneath 
        the window on the southeast corner of the sixth floor.  All 
        three were no more than an inch apart and all were lined up in
        the same direction.  One of the three shells was crimped on the
        end which would have held the slug.  It had not been stepped on
        but merely crimped over on one small portion of the rim.  The 
        rest of that end was perfectly round.
        
      * he was present at when the rifle was found, and, along with 
        Deputy Eugene Boone who had first spotted the weapon, was 
        immediately joined by police Lt. Day, Homicide Capt. Fritz, and 
        deputy constable Seymour Weitzman, an expert on weapons who had 
        been in the sporting goods business for many years and was 
        familiar with all domestic and foreign makes.  Lt. Day briefly 
        inspected the rifle and handed it to Capt. Fritz who asked if 
        anyone knew what kind of rifle it was.  After a close 
        examination, Weitzman declared it to be a 7.65 German Mauser.
        Capt. Fritz agreed with him.

      * at the moment when Capt. Fritz concurred with Weitzman's 
        identification of the rifle, an unknown Dallas police officer 
        came running up the stairs and advised Capt. Fritz that a 
        Dallas policeman had been shot in the Oak Cliff area.  Craig
        instinctively looked at his watch.  The time was 1:06 p.m.
        (The Warren Commission attempted to move this time back beyond
        1:15 to plausible claim Oswald had reached the Tippit murder 
        scene in a more humanly possible time-frame than would be the 
        case if Tippit had the encounter with his murderer any earlier.)

      * Later in the afternoon Craig received word of Oswald's arrest 
        and that he was suspected of being involved in the Kennedy's
        murder.  He immediately thought of the man running down the 
        grassy knoll and made a telephone call to Capt. Will Fritz to
        gave him the description of the man he had seen.  Fritz said
        Craig's description sounded like the man they had and asked 
        him to come take a look.  When he saw Oswald in Fritz's 
        personal office Deputy Craig confirmed that this was indeed 
        the man, dressed in the same way, that he had seen running
        down the knoll and into the Rambler.  They went into the 
        office together and Fritz told Oswald, 

          "This man (pointing to me) saw you leave."  At which time
          the suspect replied, "I told you people I did."  Fritz, 
          apparently trying to console Oswald, said, "Take it easy, 
          son--we're just trying to find out what happened."  Fritz 
          then said, "What about the car?"  Oswald replied, leaning 
          forward on Fritz' desk, "That station wagon belongs to 
          Mrs. Paine--don't try to drag her into this."  Sitting 
          back in his chair, Oswald said very disgustedly and very 
          low, "Everybody will know who I am now."
       
        The fact that Fritz said "car" and this elicited Oswald's
        outburst about a "station wagon"--that no one else had 
        mentioned--confirms the veracity of Roger Craig's story.  

      * junior counsel for the Warren Commission Dave Belin, was the
        man who interview Roger Craig in April of 1964.  After the
        being questioned in what Craig recounts as a very manipulative
        and selective way, Belin asked "Do you want to follow or waive 
        your signature or sign now?"  Craig noted, "Since there was 
        nothing but a tape recording and a stenographer's note book, 
        there was obviously nothing to sign.  All other testimony which 
        I have read (a considerable amount) included an explanation 
        that the person could waive his signature then or his statement 
        would be typed and he would be notified when it was ready for 
        signature.  Belin did not say this to me."  After Craig first 
        saw the transcript in January of 1968 he discoverd that the
        testimony he gave had been changed in fourteen different 
        places.


  Deputy Sheriff Roger Craig never changed his account of what he witnessed
  and experienced on Friday, November 22, 1963.  (The passage where he 
  describes the methodology employed by David Belin in selectively recording
  his testimony is highly illuminating and provides us with a glimpse of how
  the "W.C." interviewed witnesses in a very controlled way.)  He remained
  convinced, for the rest of this life, that the man entering the Rambler
  station wagon was Lee Harvey Oswald.  He was fired from the Sheriff's 
  office on July 4, 1967, and from that day forward he never again could 
  find steady work.  Multiple attempts were made on his life, his wife 
  finally left him, and in the end, he was alleged to have shot himself to 
  death on May 15, 1975.  




  the following is an unpublished manuscript written by the late Roger Craig:
  ___________________________________________________________________________

                         WHEN THEY KILL A PRESIDENT
                                     By
                           Roger Craig - (c) 1971



                This book is dedicated to my wife Molly, 
                       who meant it when she said 
                         "for better or worse."





                                     I


         Our president John Kennedy went down to Dallas town
         Where the hired assassins waited and there they shot him down,
         Because he dreamed of peace and plenty and he talked it 'round
         His dream goes marching on.


         The Dallas County Court House at 505 Main Street was indeed a
      unique place to come to hear what was WRONG with John F. Kennedy
      and his policies as President of these United States.
         This building housed the elite troops of the Dallas County
      Sheriff's Department (of which I was one), who, with blind 
      obedience, followed the orders of their Great White Father:  BILL 
      DECKER, Sheriff of Dallas County.
         From these elite troops came the most bitter verbal attacks on
      President Kennedy.  They spoke very strongly against his policies
      concerning the Bay of Pigs incident and the Cuban Missile crisis.
      They seemed to resent very much the fact that President Kennedy was
      a Catholic.  I do not know why this was such a critical issue with
      many of the deputies but they did seem to hold this against
      President Kennedy.
         The concession stand in the lobby of the court house was the
      best place to get into a discussion concerning the President.  The
      old man who ran the stand evidenced a particular hatred for
      President Kennedy.  He seemed to go out of his way to drag anyone
      who came by his stand into a discussion about the President.  His
      name is J. C. Kiser.
         He was a little man with a short mustache and glasses that he
      wore right on the end of his nose.  He was a particularly good
      friend of Sheriff Decker, and he held the concession in the lobby
      for many years.  Like Decker, he was unopposed when his lease came
      up for renewal.  It was common knowledge that Bill Decker made it
      possible for him to remain there as long as he wished.  This sick
      little man not only had a deep hatred for John F. Kennedy, he also
      hated the black people, even those who spent their money at his
      stand.  He would often curse them as they walked away after making
      a purchase from him.  He flatly refused to make telephone change
      for them even though he would be simultaneously making change for a
      white person.
         *This little man* was a typical example of the atmosphere that
      lingered in this building that housed LAW AND ORDER in Dallas
      County.
         Many of the deputies had a dislike for the President--some more
      so than others.  However, there *were* those who would not degrade
      themselves by taking verbal punches at our President.  One of these
      was Hiram Ingram.  Although devoted to Bill Decker, he was also a
      good friend of mine.  We often discussed the political debates that
      took place in the lobby.  Hiram had a great dislike for this sick
      little man who seemed to lead the attack on the President.  He also
      had little respect for the deputies, attorneys and court house
      employees who tolerated or even agreed with this philosophy of
      attacking John F. Kennedy.
         Hiram Ingram was a small man--in stature.  He was always ready
      with a friendly smile and greeting.  He began his association with
      the County during the Bonnie and Clyde era--when he was an
      ambulance driver and inside employee at a local funeral home.  In
      fact, Hiram prepared Bonnie and Clyde for burial after they were
      brought back to Dallas from the ambush in Louisiana.
         Hiram and I were very close--one of those friendships which
      develops when some people first meet.  I had known Hiram for about
      four years at the time of the assassination.  He was working in the
      Civil Division and shortly after November 22, 1963 he had a heart
      attack.  When he returned to work Decker put him on the Bond Desk,
      where I would later be and work closely with Hiram.  I worked the
      day shift one month and the evening shift the following month.
      Hiram worked only evenings.  So every other month we worked
      together.  This gave us time to talk and discuss the events in
      Dallas and even the Sheriff's Office itself.  The Department was
      not well organized.
         To clear some of the bonds and bondsmen we would have to call
      Decker at home--no matter what time of the day or night--for his
      approval or ANY decision.  This applied only to certain bondsmen.
      Decker had his chosen few who were not questioned.  Hiram was a
      very dependable employee and should not have had to clear the minor
      decisions with our Great White Father, Bill Decker.
         As the months passed and Hiram and I worked together we built a
      mutual respect for each other.  When Decker fired me on July 4,
      1967 Hiram was infuriated but, like any employee of Decker's, he
      couldn't say anything in my defense for fear of having *his*
      employment cut short or his reputation ruined.  One of Decker's 
      favorite past times was ruining reputations.
         Our friendship did not end with my termination.  We continued to
      talk from time to time and Hiram was very helpful when Penn Jones
      wanted information concerning records at the Sheriff's office.
      However, in March of 1968 Hiram explained to me that information
      was getting more difficult to get for some reason.  Fortunately by
      this time I had already supplied Penn Jones and Bill Boxley 
      (investigator for Jim Garrison) with much information from Hiram.
         About two weeks later, near the end of March 1968, I heard that
      Hiram had fallen at home and broken his hip and was in the
      hospital.  I went to see my good buddy to cheer him up and received
      the shock of my life.  Hiram was under oxygen and could not have
      *any* visitors.  Three days later he was dead--of cancer.  He had
      been working just prior to the fall.  I think that we owe a debt of
      gratitude to this great man who, in his own quiet way, helped us 
      all so much.
         Thus . . . we have the atmosphere that was to greet the
      President of the United States upon his arrival in Dallas.
      However, things were to get even worse before he arrived.
         The battle ground had been picked and the UNwelcome mat was out
      for President Kennedy.  Unknown to most of us, the rest of the plan
      was being completed.  The patsy had been chosen and placed in the
      building across from the court house--where he could not deny his
      presence *after it was all over*.  This was done with the apparent
      approval and certainly with the knowledge of our co-workers, the
      F.B.I., since they later admitted that they knew Lee Harvey Oswald
      was employed at the School Book Depository Building located on the
      corner of Elm Street and Houston Street across from the Sheriff's
      Office.
         The security had been arranged by the Secret Service and the
      Dallas Police--our boys in blue.  The final touch was put on by
      Sheriff James Eric (Bill) Decker.  On the morning of November 22,
      1963 the patrolmen in the districts which make up the Dallas County
      Sheriff's Patrol Division were left in the field, ignorant of what
      was going on in the downtown area, which was just as well.  Decker
      was not going to LET them do anything anyway.
         About 10:30 a.m. November 22, 1963, Bill Decker called into his
      office what I will refer to as his street people--plain-clothes
      men, detectives and warrant men, myself included--and told us that
      President Kennedy was coming to Dallas and that the motorcade would
      come down Main Street.  He then advised us that we were to stand
      out in front of the building, 505 Main Street and represent the
      Sheriff's Office.  We were to take NO part whatsoever in the
      security of that motorcade.  (WHY, JAMES ERIC?)  So . . . the stage
      had been set, all the pawns were in place, the security had been
      withdrawn from that one vulnerable location.  Come John F. Kennedy,
      come to Elm and Houston Streets in Dallas, Texas and take your
      place in history!
         The time was 12:15 p.m.  I was standing in front of the court
      house at 505 Main Street.  Deputy Sheriff Jim Ramsey was standing
      behind me.  We were waiting for the President of the United States.
      I had a feeling of pride that I was going to be not more than four
      feet from the President but deep inside something kept gnawing at
      me.  I said to Jim Ramsey, "He's late."  Jim's reply stunned me.
      He said, "Maybe somebody will shoot the son of a bitch."  Then I
      realized the crowd was hostile.  The men about me felt that they
      were FORCED to acknowledge his presence.  Although he was the
      President, they were making statements like, "Why does he have to
      come to Dallas?"
         Something else was bothering me . . . being a trained officer, I
      always looked for anything which might be amiss about any situation
      with which I was confronted.  Suddenly I knew what was wrong.
      There were no officers guarding the intersections or controlling
      the crowd.  My mind flashed back to the meeting in Decker's office
      that morning, then back to the lack of security in this area.
         Suddenly the motorcade approached and President Kennedy was
      smiling and waving and for a moment I relaxed and fell into the
      happy mood the President was displaying.  The car turned the corner
      onto Houston Street.  I was still looking at the rest of the people
      in the party.  I was soon to be shocked back into reality.  The 
      President had passed and was turning west on Elm Street . . . as if
      there were no people, no cars, the only thing in my world at that 
      moment was a rifle shot!  I bolted toward Houston Street. I was 
      fifteen steps from the corner--before I reached it two more shots
      had been fired.  Telling myself that it wasn't true and at the same
      time knowing that it was, I continued to run.  I ran across Houston
      Street and beside the pond, which is on the west side of Houston.
      I pushed a man out of my way and he fell into the pond.  I ran down
      the grass between Main and Elm.  People were lying all over the
      ground.  I thought, "My God, they've killed a woman and child," who
      were lying beside the gutter on the South side of Elm Street.  I
      checked them and they were alright.  I saw a Dallas Police Officer
      run up the grassy knoll and go behind the picket fence near the
      railroad yards.  I followed and behind the fence was complete
      confusion and hysteria.
         I began to question people when I noticed a woman in her early
      thirties attempting to drive out of the parking lot.  She was in a
      brown 1962 or 1963 Chevrolet.  I stopped her, identified myself and
      placed her under arrest.  She told me that she HAD to leave and I
      said, "Lady, you're not going anywhere."  I turned her over to
      Deputy Sheriff C. I. (Lummy) Lewis and told him the circumstances
      of the arrest.  Officer Lewis told me that he would take her to
      Sheriff Decker and take care of her car.
         The parking lot behind the picket fence was of little importance
      to most of the investigators at the scene except that the shots
      were thought to have come from there.
         Let us examine this parking lot.  It was leased by Deputy
      Sheriff B. D. Gossett.  He in turn rented parking space by the
      month to the deputies who worked in the court house, except for
      official vehicles.  I rented one of these spaces from Gossett when
      I was a dispatcher working days or evenings.  I paid Gossett $3.00 
      per month and was given a key to the lot.  An 3 interesting point 
      is that the lot had an iron bar across the only entrance and exit 
      (which were the same).  The bar had a chain and lock on it.  The 
      only people having access to it were deputies with keys.  Point:  
      how did the woman gain access and, what is more important, who was 
      she and WHY did she HAVE to leave?
         This was to be the beginning of the never-ending cover up.  Had
      I known then what I know now, *I* would have personally questioned
      the woman and impounded and searched her car.  I had no way of
      knowing that an officer, with whom I had worked for four years, was
      capable of losing a thirty year old woman and a three thousand
      pound automobile.  To this day Officer Lewis does not know who she
      was, where she came from or what happened to her.  STRANGE!
         Meanwhile, back at the parking lot, I continued to help the
      Dallas Officers restore order.  When things were somewhat calmer I
      began to question the people who were standing at the top of the
      grassy knoll, asking if anyone had seen anything strange or unusual
      before or during the President's fatal turn onto Elm Street.
         Several people indicated to me that they thought the shots came
      from the area of the grassy knoll or behind the picket fence.  My
      next reliable witness came forward in the form of Mr. Arnold
      Rowland.  Mr. Rowland and his wife were standing at the top of the
      grassy knoll on the north side of Elm Street.  Arnold Rowland began
      telling me his account of what he saw before the assassination.  He
      said approximately fifteen minutes before President Kennedy arrived
      he was looking around and something caught his eye.  It was a white
      man standing by the 6th floor window of the Texas School Book
      Depository Building in the southeast corner, holding a rifle
      equipped with a telescopic sight and in the southwest corner of the
      sixth floor was a colored male pacing back and forth.  Needless to
      say, I was astounded by his statement.  I asked Mr. Rowland why he
      had not reported this incident before and he told me that he
      thought they were secret service agents--an obvious conclusion for
      a layman.  Rowland continued.  He told me that he looked back at
      the sixth floor a few minutes later and the man with the rifle was
      gone so he dismissed it from his mind.  
         I was writing all this down in my notebook and when I finished I
      advised Mr. and Mrs. Rowland that I would have to detain them for a 
      statement.  I had started toward the Sheriff's Office with them 
      when lo and behold I was approached by Officer C. L. (Lummy) Lewis,
      who asked me "What ya got"--a favorite expression of most 
      investigators with Bill Decker.  I explained the situation to him 
      and told him of Rowland's account.  Being the Good Samaritan he 
      was, Officer Lewis offered to take the Rowlands off my hands and 
      get their statements.  This worked out a little better than my 
      first arrest.  The Warren Commission decided not to accept Arnold 
      Rowland's story but at least they did not lose them.  Hang in 
      there, Lummy!
         The time was approximately 12:40 p.m.  I had just turned the
      Rowlands over to Lummy Lewis when I met E. R. (Buddy) Walthers,
      a small man with a very arrogant manner.  He was, without a doubt, 
      Decker's favorite pupil.  He wore dark-rimmed glasses and a small-
      brimmed hat because effecting them meant that he would resemble 
      Bill Decker.  Walthers had worked for the Yellow Cab Company of 
      Dallas before coming to the Sheriff's Office, about a year before I
      began working there.  His termination from the cab company was the 
      result of several shortages of money.  He came to the Sheriff's 
      Department as a patrolman but because of his close connection with 
      Justice of the Peace Bill Richburg--one of Decker's closest allies
      --Buddy soon was promoted to detective.  He had absolutely no 
      ability as a law enforcement officer.  However, he was fast 
      climbing the ladder of success by lying to Decker and squealing on 
      his fellow officers.  
         Walthers' ambition was to become Sheriff of Dallas County and he
      would do anything or anybody to reach that goal.  It was very clear 
      Buddy enjoyed more job security with Decker than anyone else did.  
      Decker carried him for years by breaking a case for him or taking a 
      case which had been broken by another officer and putting Walthers' 
      name on the arrest sheet.  Soon after he was promoted to detective 
      he became intimate with such people as W. 0. Bankston, the 
      flamboyant Oldsmobile dealer in Dallas who furnished Decker with a 
      new Fire Engine Red Olds every year and who was arrested several 
      times for Driving while Intoxicated but never served any jail time.  
         Buddy's acquaintances also included several independent oil 
      operators throughout Texas, several anti-Castro Cubans and many 
      underworld characters--especially women!  He was frequently 
      crashing parties which were given by wealthy friends of Decker's--
      of course while he was *on* duty.  He often became drunk and 
      belligerent at these parties and at one point, when asked to leave, 
      he threatened to pull his gun on the host.  This information can be 
      verified by Billy Courson, who was Buddy's partner at that time.
         Walthers hit the big time when, in 1961, two Federal Narcotics
      Agents came to Decker's office with charges that Buddy was growing
      marijuana in the back yard of his home at 2527 Boyd Street in the
      Oak Cliff section of Dallas.  This could be considered conduct
      unbecoming to a police officer--but not for Buddy!  After a secret
      meeting between the Federal Agents, Decker and Buddy, the matter 
      was dropped and--needless to say--covered up, thus enabling Buddy
      to continue his career as Decker's Representative of Law and Order 
      in Dallas County.  
         However, the Dallas Police began receiving complaints that Buddy 
      was shaking down underworld characters for loot taken in several 
      burglaries and selling the stuff himself.  After several reports 
      the Dallas Police began to investigate and, finally, obtained a 
      search warrant for Buddy's home.  Their BIG mistake was securing 
      the warrant from Judge Richburg--which was bad enough--but Buddy's 
      wife also worked for Richburg and this made matters worse.  
      Strangely enough, they did not find anything.  However, a few weeks 
      later they were a little more careful and made a surprise visit to 
      Buddy's home, where they indeed recovered such things as toasters, 
      clothing and various items--just as their informers had said.  It 
      would seem they had him *this time*, wouldn't it?  But not so.
      Buddy explained that he had recovered the merchandise from where it
      had been hidden and had not had time to make a report on them and
      turn them in to the Property Room!  The Dallas Police didn't buy
      this story but the pressure was again brought to bear by our
      Protector, Bill Decker, and the Dallas Police were left out in the
      cold--no charges filed!  They were certainly furious but what could
      they do?  If WE as citizens cannot fight the Establishment, how can
      the Establishment fight the Establishment?  
         It was clear in my mind--and if the people with whom I worked 
      COULD talk, I am sure they would agree--that Buddy had a powerful 
      hold on Decker.  I base this on the fact that Buddy's popularity 
      with Decker greatly increased after the assassination.  Buddy was a 
      chronic liar--he was always telling Decker things he thought were 
      happening in the County which he was checking on.  Things which he 
      was *not* doing.  He also told Decker that he was in the theater 
      when Oswald was captured and that he, in fact, helped the Dallas 
      Police.  This was completely untrue.  Buddy never entered the Texas
      Theater--his partner, Bill Courson, did.
         Buddy also told Decker about a family of anti-Castro Cubans
      living in the Oak Cliff area and said that he was watching them.
      This part may have been true because we received the same
      information from the Dallas Police Intelligence Division.  But one
      day Buddy made a visit to the house in Oak Cliff and when the
      Police and Sheriff's Deputies went to question them a few days
      later, they were gone.  Did Buddy warn them?  After all, he was
      very, very close to Jack Ruby.  In fact, every time Buddy was in
      trouble with one of Jack Ruby's employees--especially Nancy 
      Perrin Rich--Decker would send Buddy to straighten things out and 
      put Nancy in her place--with the help of Judge Richburg.  Touching 
      Jack Ruby was a no-no!
         There were many other things which made Buddy suspect as a not-
      so-law abiding lawman, such as the swimming pool he built in his
      back yard (on *his* salary?).  The concrete was furnished by a 
      local contractor free of charge.  Buddy used many pills he carried
      in the trunk of his unmarked squad car for trading with certain 
      underworld characters--pills for information.  I learned from what
      I consider a reliable source that these pills had been confiscated
      (although no reports were made nor the pills turned in).  Most of
      those involved in this exchange were women.  It would seem that
      Buddy Walthers could not be terminated from the Sheriff's
      Department, no matter what.
         One incident in 1966 which would have resulted in the firing of
      any other deputy occurred when Buddy was sent to Nevada to transfer
      a suspect wanted in Dallas.  It seemed Buddy was given a certain
      amount of travel money which he lost at the gambling table in Las
      Vegas.  Broke and in trouble, Buddy called none other than W. O.
      Bankston, who wired him enough money to bring his prisoner back to
      Dallas.  Many times I wondered who was REALLY Sheriff but Buddy was
      about to reach the end of his rope.  
         In late 1968, when the Clay Shaw trial was being prepared, there
      was talk of bringing Buddy to New Orleans to testify.  Well, that 
      was a blow to the power which ruled Dallas.  They could not have 
      this half-wit on the witness stand.  When the word reached Dallas,
      Decker was working on a double-murder which occurred in *his* 
      county and had a lead on the suspect in January of 1969.  The Shaw 
      trial was scheduled for February and Decker sent Buddy and his 
      partner, Alvin Maddox (who was about as efficient as a nutty 
      professor), to a motel on Samuell Boulevard in Dallas to question 
      a Walter Cherry about the killings.  Cherry was an escaped convict 
      and a suspect in the double-murder.  Decker sent them to talk to 
      Cherry without a warrant.  When they entered the room at the motel 
      Buddy was shot dead and Maddox wounded in the FOOT.  Coincidence?  
      Maybe!  At any rate Buddy had been silenced.  One more point for 
      Dallas!
         Back to November 22, 1963.  As I have earlier stated, the time
      was approximately 12:40 p.m. when I ran into Buddy Walthers.  The 
      traffic was very heavy as Patrolman Baker (assigned to Elm and 
      Houston Streets) had left his post, allowing the traffic to travel 
      west on Elm Street.  As we were scanning the curb I heard a shrill 
      whistle coming from the north side of Elm Street.  I turned and saw
      a white male in his twenties running down the grassy knoll from the
      direction of the Texas School Book Depository Building.  A light
      green Rambler station wagon was coming slowly west on Elm Street.
      The driver of the station wagon was a husky looking Latin, with
      dark wavy hair, wearing a tan wind-breaker type jacket.  He was
      looking up at the man running toward him.  He pulled over to the
      north curb and picked up the man coming down the hill.  I tried to
      cross Elm Street to stop them and find out who they were.  The
      traffic was too heavy and I was unable to reach them.  They drove
      away going west on Elm Street.  
         In addition to noting that these two men were in an obvious 
      hurry, I realized they were the only ones not running TO the scene.
      Everyone else was running to see whatever might be seen.  The 
      suspect, as I will refer to him, who ran down the grassy knoll was 
      wearing faded blue trousers and a long sleeved work shirt made of 
      some type of grainy material.  This will become very important to 
      me later on and very embarrassing to the authorities (F.B.I., 
      Dallas Police and Warren Commission).  I thought the incident 
      concerning the two men and the Rambler Station Wagon important 
      enough to bring it to the attention of the authorities at the 
      command post at Elm and Houston.
         I ran to the front of the Texas School Book Depository where I
      asked for anyone involved in the investigation.  There was a man
      standing on the steps of the Book Depository Building and he turned
      to me and said, "I'm with the Secret Service."  This man was about
      40 years old, sandy-haired with a distinct cleft in his chin.  He
      was well-dressed in a gray business suit.  I was naive enough at
      the time to believe that the only people there were actually
      officers--after all, this was the command post.  I gave him the
      information.  He showed little interest in the persons leaving.
      However, he seemed extremely interested in the description of the
      Rambler.  This was the only part of my statement which he wrote
      down in his little pad he was holding.  Point:  Mrs. Ruth Paine, 
      the woman Marina Oswald lived with in Irving, Texas, owned a 
      Rambler station wagon, at that time, of this same color.






                              *  *  *  *  *  * 





                                     II


        From the book depository and of course that grassy knoll
        And the Dal Tex building's shooter fulfilled his deadly role
        The noon day sun was witness as they took their awful toll
        His dream goes marching on.


         I learned nothing of this "Secret Service Agent's" identity 
      until December 22, 1967 while we were living in New Orleans.  The
      television was on as I came home from work one night and there on
      the screen was a picture of this man.  I did not know what it was
      all about until my wife told me that Jim Garrison had charged him
      with being a part of the assassination plot.  I called Jim Garrison
      then and told him that this was the man I had seen in Dallas on
      November 22, 1963.  Jim then sent one of his investigators to see
      me with a better picture which I identified.  I then learned that
      this man's name was EDGAR EUGENE BRADLEY.  It was a relief to me to
      know his name for I had been bothered by the fact that I had failed
      to get his name when he had told me he was a Secret Service Agent
      and I had given him my information.  On the night of the
      assassination when I had come home and discussed the day with my
      wife I had, of course, told her of this encounter and my failure to
      get his name.
         As I finished talking with the Agent I was confronted by the
      High Priest of Dallas County Politics, Field Marshal Bill Decker.
      Decker had, apparently, been standing directly behind me and had
      overheard what I was saying.  He called me aside and informed me
      that the suspect had already left the scene.  (How did you know,
      James Eric?  You had just arrived.)  Decker then told me to help
      them (the police) search the Book Depository Building.  Decker
      turned toward his office across the street, then suddenly stopped,
      looked at me and said "Somebody better take charge of this
      investigation."  Then he continued walking slowly toward his
      office, indicating that it was *not* going to be him.
         When I entered the Book Depository Building I was joined by
      Deputy Sheriffs Eugene Boone and Luke Mooney.  We went up the
      stairs directly to the sixth floor.  The room was very dark and a
      thick layer of dust seemed to cover everything.  We went to the
      south side of the building, since this was the street side and
      seemed the most logical place to start.
         Luke Mooney and I reached the southeast corner at the same time.
      We immediately found three rifle cartridges laying in such a way
      that they looked as though they had been carefully and deliberately
      placed there--in plain sight on the floor to the right of the
      southeast corner window.  Mooney and I examined the cartridges very
      carefully and remarked how close together they were.  The three of
      them were no more than one inch apart and all were facing in the
      same direction, a feat very difficult to achieve with a bolt action
      rifle--or any rifle for that matter.  One cartridge drew our
      particular attention.  It was crimped on the end which would have
      held the slug.  It had not been stepped on but merely crimped over
      on one small portion of the rim.  The rest of that end was
      perfectly round.
         Laying on the floor to the left of the same window was a small
      brown paper lunch bag containing some well cleaned chicken bones.
      I called across the room and summoned the Dallas Police I.D. man,
      Lt. Day.  When he arrived with his camera Mooney and I left the
      window and started our search of the rest of the sixth floor.
         We were told by Dallas Police to look for a rifle--something I
      had already concluded might be there since the cartridges found
      were, apparently, from a rifle.  I was nearing the northwest corner
      of the sixth floor when Deputy Eugene Boone called out, "here it
      is."  I was about eight feet from Boone, who was standing next to a
      stack of cardboard boxes.  The boxes were stacked so that there was
      no opening between them except at the top.  Looking over the top
      and down the opening I saw a rifle with a telescopic sight laying
      on the floor with the bolt facing upward.  At this time Boone and I
      were joined by Lt. Day of the Dallas Police Department and Dallas
      Homicide Captain, Will Fritz.  The rifle was retrieved by Lt. Day,
      who activated the bolt, ejecting one live round of ammunition which
      fell to the floor.
         Lt. Day inspected the rifle briefly, then handed it to Capt.
      Fritz who had a puzzled look on his face.  Seymour Weitzman, a
      deputy constable, was standing beside me at the time.  Weitzman was
      an expert on weapons.  He had been in the sporting goods business
      for many years and was familiar with all domestic and foreign
      weapons.  Capt. Fritz asked if anyone knew what kind of rifle it
      was.  Weitzman asked to see it.  After a *close* examination (much
      longer than Fritz or Day's examination) Weitzman declared that it
      was a 7.65 German Mauser.  Fritz agreed with him.  Apparently,
      someone at the Dallas Police Department also loses things but, at
      least, they are more conscientious.  They did replace it--even if
      the replacement was made in a different country.  (See Warren
      Report for Italian Mannlicher-Carcano 6.5 Caliber).  
         At that exact moment an unknown Dallas police officer came 
      running up the stairs and advised Capt. Fritz that a Dallas 
      policeman had been shot in the Oak Cliff area.  I instinctively 
      looked at my watch.  The time was 1:06 p.m.  A token force of 
      uniformed officers was left to keep the sixth floor secure and 
      Fritz, Day, Boone, Mooney, Weitzman and I left the building.
         On my way back to the Sheriff's Office I was nearly run down
      several times by Dallas Police cars racing to the scene of the
      shooting of a fellow officer.  There were more police units at the
      J. D. Tippit shooting than there were at President John F.
      Kennedy's assassination.
         Tippit had been instructed to patrol the Oak Cliff area along
      with Dallas Police Unit #87 at 12:45 p.m. by the dispatcher.  Unit
      #87 immediately left Oak Cliff and went to the triple underpass,
      leaving Tippit alone.  Why?  At 12:54 p.m., J. D. Tippit, Dallas
      Police Unit #78, gave his location as Lancaster Blvd., and Eighth
      St., some ten blocks from the place where he was to be killed.  The
      Dallas dispatcher called Tippit at 1:04 p.m. and received no
      answer.  He continued to call three times and there was still no
      reply.  Comparing this time with the time I received news of the
      shooting of the police officer at 1:06 p.m., it is fair to assume
      Tippit was dead or being killed between 1:04 and 1:06 p.m.  This is
      also corroborated by the eye witnesses at the Tippit killing, who
      said he was shot between 1:05 and 1:08 p.m.
         According to Officer Baker, Dallas Police, he talked to Oswald
      at 12:35 p.m. in the lunch room of the Texas School Book
      Depository.  This would give Oswald 30 minutes or less to finish
      his coke, leave the building, walk four blocks east on Elm Street,
      catch a bus and ride it back west in heavy traffic for two blocks,
      get off the bus and walk two more blocks west and turn south on
      Lamar Street, walk four blocks and have a conversation with a cab
      driver and a woman over the use of Whaley's (the cab driver) cab,
      get into the cab and ride to 500 North Beckley Street, get out and
      walk to 1026 North Beckley where his (Oswald's) room was located,
      pick up something (?);  and if that is not enough, Earlene Roberts,
      the housekeeper where Oswald lived, testified that at 1:05 p.m.
      Oswald was waiting for a bus in front of his rooming house and
      FINALLY, to make him the fastest man on Earth, he walked to East
      Tenth Street and Patton Street, several blocks away and killed J.
      D. Tippit between 1:05 and 1:08 p.m.  If he had not been arrested
      when he was, it is my belief that Earl Warren and his Commission
      would have had Lee Harvey Oswald eating dinner in Havana!
         I was convinced on November 22, 1963, and I am still sure, that
      the man entering the Rambler station wagon was Lee Harvey Oswald.
      After entering the Rambler, Oswald and his companion would only
      have had to drive six blocks west on Elm Street and they would have
      been on Beckley Avenue and a straight shot to Oswald's rooming
      house.  The Warren Commission could not accept this even though it 
      *might* have given Oswald time to kill Tippit for having two men 
      involved would have made it a conspiracy!
         As to Lee Harvey Oswald shooting J. D. Tippit, let us examine
      the evidence:  Dallas Police Unit #221 (Summers-refer-police radio
      log) stated on the police radio that he had an "eye ball" witness
      to the shooting.  The suspect was a white male about twenty-seven,
      five feet, eleven inches, black wavy hair, fair complexioned, (not
      Oswald) wearing an Eisenhower-type jacket of light color, dark
      trousers, and a white shirt, apparently armed with a .32 caliber,
      dark-finish automatic pistol which he had in his right hand.  (The
      jacket strongly resembles that worn by the driver of the station
      wagon).
         Dallas Police Unit #550 Car 2 was driven to the scene of the
      Tippit murder by Sgt. Gerald Hill.  He was accompanied by Bud
      Owens, Dallas Police Department, and William F. Alexander, 
      Assistant D.A. for Dallas.  Unit #550 Car 2 reported over the 
      police radio that the shells at the scene indicated that the 
      suspect was armed with a .38 caliber automatic.  38 automatic 
      shells and 38 revolver shells are distinctly different.  (Oswald
      allegedly had a 38 revolver in his possession when arrested?)
         After much confusion in the Oak Cliff area the Dallas Police
      were finally directed to the Texas Theater where the suspect was
      reported to be.  Several squads arrived at the theater and quickly
      surrounded it.  At the back door was none other than William F.
      Alexander, Assistant D.A., and several Dallas Police officers with
      guns drawn.  While Dallas Police Officer McDonald and others
      entered the theater and turned on the lights and the suspect was
      pointed out to them, they started searching people SEVERAL rows in
      front of Oswald, giving him a chance to run if he wanted to--right
      into the blazing guns of waiting officers!
         This man had to be stopped.  He was the most dangerous criminal
      in the history of the world.  Here was a man who was able to go
      from one location to another with the swiftness of Superman, to
      change his physical characteristics at will and who pumped four
      automatic slugs into a police officer with a *revolver*--indeed a
      master criminal!
         Well, back to the facts?  Oswald was captured by Officer
      McDonald, who was out cold from one blow from the suspect and woke
      up to find he had arrested the suspect!  (Nice going, Mac).
         Later that afternoon I received word of the suspect's arrest and
      the fact that he was suspected of being involved in the President's
      death.  I immediately thought of the man running down the grassy
      knoll.  I made a telephone call to Capt. Will Fritz and gave him
      the description of the man I had seen and Fritz said, "that sounds
      like the suspect we have.  Can you come up and take a look at him?"
         I arrived at Capt. Fritz office shortly after 4:30 p.m.  I was
      met by Agent Bookhout from the F.B.I., who took my name and place
      of employment.  The door to Capt. Fritz' personal office was open
      and the blinds on the windows were closed, so that one had to look
      through the doorway in order to see into the room.  I looked
      through the open door at the request of Capt. Fritz and identified
      the man who I saw running down the grassy knoll and enter the
      Rambler station wagon--and it WAS Lee Harvey Oswald.  
         Fritz and I entered his private office together.  He told 
      Oswald, "This man (pointing to me) saw you leave."  At which time 
      the suspect replied, "I told you people I did."  Fritz, apparently
      trying to console Oswald, said, "Take it easy, son--we're just 
      trying to find out what happened."  Fritz then said, "What about 
      the car?"  Oswald replied, leaning forward on Fritz' desk, "That 
      station wagon belongs to Mrs. Paine--don't try to drag her into 
      this."  Sitting back in his chair, Oswald said very disgustedly and
      very low, "Everybody will know who I am now."   
         At this time Capt. Fritz ushered me from his office, thanking 
      me.  I walked away saddened but relieved that it was the end of the
      day and I could go home, where I could try--at least for a little 
      while--to put the tragedy and the day's events out of my mind.  I
      was soon to find out that *my* troubles had only begun--for I had 
      seen and heard too much that fateful day.
         Saturday, November 23, 1963, I spent the day at home talking to
      my wife, Molly, about Friday's events and playing with Deanna and
      Terry, not knowing that the very next day would bring another
      tragic event which would affect not only my job but my entire
      future.
         Like many other Americans, I was watching television on Sunday
      morning, November 24, 1963 when Jack Ruby shot Lee Harvey Oswald.
      I would like to clear up one thing at this point concerning Ruby's
      access to the basement of the city jail.  The Warren Commission
      concluded that Dallas Police Officer R. E. Vaughn, through
      negligence, let Jack Ruby into the basement.  What they did not say
      is that Officer Vaughn was questioned extensively after the
      shooting and even submitted to a polygraph test, which he passed,
      showing that he *did not* let Jack Ruby go down the Main Street
      Ramp of the city jail.  I have known Officer Vaughn for many years
      and feel that he is honest, conscientious and one of the finest
      people I have ever known.  I feel that he was unjustly accused.
      However, bombing Vaughn was the easiest way out for Earl Warren's
      Commission.






                              *  *  *  *  *  * 





                                     III


         The industrial and military complex can't survive
         Without their little horror wars they artfully contrive.
         If they push us to the big one then we won't come out alive
         His dream goes marching on.


         Things were fairly normal for me for the next few months, with
      the exception of curious persons who popped into the Sheriff's
      Office from time to time to ask me questions about the
      assassination.
         On the first anniversary of the assassination a team of newsmen
      from NBC New York came to Dallas.  They wanted to do a documentary
      on the assassination and they contacted Jim Kerr of the "Dallas
      Times Herald," who told them of me.
         Jim approached me and said that the NBC people were interested
      in what I had to say and would I talk to them?  Jim Kerr indicated
      to me that he had it all set up.  However, because I knew how Bill
      Decker felt about anyone in his Department talking about this
      particular event, I told him I would have to get Decker's
      permission.  NBC had been calling me since October 1964 asking to 
      talk to me but I would not commit myself.  
         When they arrived during the week of November 22, I went to 
      Decker to ask permission to do the story.  Decker promptly sat me
      down in the private office, closed the door and sat there looking 
      at me for several minutes.  It was difficult to tell if Decker was 
      looking at you--with that glass eye of his--but at the same time 
      you had the uneasy feeling that he was looking straight through 
      you.  Decker began to talk with that even, never-rising voice which
      commanded attention and gave you the feeling that it was dangerous 
      to interrupt or even question him.  
         Decker told me to tell these people (Jim Kerr and NBC) that I 
      was a Deputy Sheriff--not an actor--and for me to keep my mouth 
      shut.  He then went on to say, "Tell them you didn't see or hear 
      anything."  He then went back to the papers on his desk and I knew
      he was through--and so was I.  I relayed the message to Jim Kerr, 
      who was very disappointed--and even mad, but he, like me, knew that
      he must not challenge Decker's law.
         From that day forward Bill Decker began to watch my every move.
      People in the office who, before this, very seldom spoke to me,
      began to hang around watching my every move and listening to
      everything I said.  Among these were Rosemary Allen, E. R. (Buddy)
      Walthers, Allen Sweatt and Bob Morgan--Decker's four top stoolies.
         Combine the foregoing with the run-in I had with Dave Belin,
      junior counsel for the Warren Commission, who questioned me in
      April of 1964, and who changed my testimony fourteen times when he
      sent it to Washington, and you will have some idea of the pressures
      brought to bear.
         David Belin told me who he was as I entered the interrogation
      room (April 1964).  He had me sit at the head of a long table.  To
      my left was a female with a pencil and pen.  Belin sat to my right.
      Between the girl and Belin was a tape recorder, which was turned
      off.  Belin instructed the girl not to take notes until he (Belin)
      said to do so.  He then told me that the investigation was being
      conducted to determine the truth as the evidence indicates.  Well,
      I could take that several ways but I said nothing.  Then Belin
      said, "For instance, I will ask you where you were at a certain
      time.  This will establish your physical location."  It was at this
      point that I began to feel that I was being led into something but
      still I said nothing.  Then Belin said, "I will ask you about what
      you *thought* you heard or saw in regard."  Well, this was too
      much.  I interrupted him and said, "Counselor, just ask me the
      questions and if I can answer them, I will."  This seemed to
      irritate Belin and he told the girl to start taking notes with the
      next question.  
         At this point Belin turned the recorder on.  The first questions
      were typical.  Where were you born?  Where did you go to school?  
      When Belin would get to certain questions he would turn off the 
      recorder and stop the girl from writing.  The he would ask me, for 
      example, "Did you see anything unusual when you were behind the 
      picket fence?"  I said, "Yes" and he said, "Fine, just a minute." 
      He would then tell the girl to start writing with the next question
      and would again start the recorder.  What was the next question?  
      "Mr. Craig, did you go into the Texas School Book Depository?"  It 
      was clear to me that he wanted only to record part of the 
      interrogation, as this happened many times.  
         I finally managed to get in at least most of what I had seen and
      heard by ignoring his advanced questions and giving a step-by-step 
      picture, which further seemed to irritate him.  
         At the end of our session Belin dismissed me but when I started
      to leave the room, he called me back.  At this time I identified 
      the clothing wore by the suspect (the 26 volumes refer to a *box* 
      of clothing--not *boxes*.  There were two boxes.)  
         After I identified the clothing Belin went over the complete 
      testimony again.  He then asked, "Do you want to follow or waive 
      your signature or sign now?"  Since there was nothing but a tape 
      recording and a stenographer's note book, there was obviously 
      nothing to sign.  All other testimony which I have read (a 
      considerable amount) included an explanation that the person could
      waive his signature then or his statement would be typed and he 
      would be notified when it was ready for signature.  Belin did not 
      say this to me.  
         He said an odd thing when I left.  It is the only time that he
      said it, and I have never read anything similar in any testimony.  
      "Be SURE, when you get back to the office, to thank Sheriff Decker 
      for *his* cooperation."  I know of no one else he questioned who he
      asked to *thank* a supervisor, chief, etc.
         I first saw my testimony in January of 1968 when I looked at the
      26 volumes which belonged to Penn Jones.  My alleged statement was
      included.  The following are some of the changes in my testimony:

          * Arnold Rowland told me that he saw two men on the
            sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository 15
            minutes before the President arrived:  one was a Negro,
            who was pacing back and forth by the *southwest* window.
            The other was a white man in the *southeast* corner,
            with a rifle equipped with a scope, and that a few
            minutes later he looked back and only the white man was
            there.  In the Warren Commission:  *Both* were *white*,
            both were *pacing* in front of the *southwest* corner
            and when Rowland looked back, *both* were gone;

          * I said the Rambler station wagon was *light green*.
            The Warren Commission:  Changed to a *white* station
            wagon;

          * I said the driver of the Station Wagon had on a *tan*
            jacket.  The Warren Commission:  A *white* jacket;

          * I said the license plates on the Rambler were *not*
            the same color as Texas plates.  The Warren Commission:
            Omitted the *not*--omitted but one word, an important
            one, so that it appeared that the license plates *were*
            the same color as Texas plates;

          * I said that I *got* a *good look* at the driver of the
            Rambler.  The Warren Commission:  I did *not* get a good
            look at the Rambler.  (In Captain Fritz's office) I had
            said that Fritz had said to Oswald, "This man saw you
            leave" (indicating me).  Oswald said, "I told you people
            I did."  Fritz then said, "Now take it easy, son, we're
            just trying to find out what happened", and then (to
            Oswald), "What about the car?" to which Oswald replied, 
            "That station wagon belongs to Mrs. Paine.  Don't try to 
            drag her into this."  Fritz said *car*--station wagon 
            was not mentioned by anyone but Oswald.  (I had told 
            Fritz over the telephone that I saw a man get into a 
            station wagon, before I went to the Dallas Police 
            Department and I had also described the man.  This is 
            when Fritz asked me to come there).  Oswald then said, 
            "Everybody will know who I am now;"  the Warren
            Commission:  Stated that the last statement by Oswald
            was made in a dramatic tone.  This was not so.  The
            Warren Commission also printed, "NOW everybody will know
            who I am", transposing the *now*.  Oswald's tone and
            attitude was one of disappointment.  If someone were
            attempting to conceal his identity as Deputy and he was
            found out, exposed--his cover blown, his reaction
            would be dismay and disappointment.  This was Oswald's
            tone and attitude--disappointment at being exposed!


         Shortly after the Kerr and Belin incidents, the Sheriff took me
      out of the field and assigned me to the Bond Desk. This meant that
      I was sitting directly in line with Decker's office door, where he
      could watch me.  It made me feel a little like a goldfish in a
      bowl!
         While I was on the Bond Desk I noticed Eva Grant (Jack Ruby's
      sister) was making daily visits to Decker's office.  During this
      time Eva and I came to be on good terms.  It was convenient for her
      to speak to me when she came in because of the position of my
      desk--close to the door leading into the Sheriff's Department.  As
      time went on Eva Grant would stop me in the hall every time I went
      for a cup of coffee or took a break.  Decker became very concerned
      over this and it was not long before I realized that ever time Eva
      and I talked we were joined by someone.  In addition to this, Buddy
      Walthers would be standing close by and listening.  (This is
      another example of his talents as a peace officer--that he would
      make himself so conspicuous.)  First he would stand and listen, and
      then head into Decker's office.
         After a few days of this and armed with information from this
      so-called detective--who couldn't track an elephant through the
      snow with a nose bleed--Decker called me into his office and
      pointed to a chair without saying a word.  Well, knowing he wasn't
      giving me the chair or asking me to look it over, I sat down.
      After a long silence he finally said, "What about it?"  This was
      Decker's way of telling you he knew it (whatever it was) and he
      wanted you to "confess".  I felt sure Eva Grant was going to be the
      subject of conversation but I was determined to make him start the
      interrogation--after all he wanted the answers and, apparently,
      Buddy had not heard as much as he thought he had.  
         Finally he gave in and said, "You've been talking to Eva Grant."
      I said, "Yes sir."  Decker then said, "What about?"  I replied, 
      "She is concerned about Jack's depressed state of mind and worried 
      about the fact that he looks ill."  Decker said, "That's none of 
      your business."  I replied with the only thing that Decker would
      accept--I said, "No sir."  Apparently sure that he had convinced me
      once again that there was no law except Decker's law, he pointed to
      the door and I left.  He was a man of few words!
         The next day Eva and I had another talk.  She was getting more
      and more concerned about Jack's health.  She had been to see Decker
      several times trying to secure medical help for her brother.  By
      this time the rumor was all through the Sheriff's office that Jack
      was, indeed, ill.  Most of this information came from the deputies
      assigned to guard him.  The deputies were Walter Neighbors, James
      R. Keene, Jess Stevenson, Jr., and others.  Finally Decker
      permitted a doctor to see Jack, a psychiatrist, who said Jack Ruby
      had a cold!
         A few weeks passed, during which time I received same telephone
      calls concerning the assassination and my testimony.  These calls
      came from various people from different parts of the country who
      were, apparently, just interested.  These calls somehow were
      reported to Bill Decker.  Not having a reason to fire me, he did
      the next best thing, he had a monitoring unit connected to the
      telephone system so that he could periodically check any telephone
      calls.
         I will not go into the events leading to Jack Ruby's death.
      Much has already been written about this but I would like to say
      that Jack Ruby made several statements to guards, jail supervisors
      and assistant D.A.'s in which he said "they are going to kill me."
      These statements became a private joke among these people and they
      discussed them freely in the hall of the court house.  When the
      Sheriff from Wichita Falls, Texas came to observe the prisoner he
      was about to take charge of, due to Ruby's change of venue, he
      refused to accept the prisoner on the grounds that Ruby was very
      ill.  Then, and only then, did Decker send Ruby to Parkland
      Hospital where he died a few short days later (some cold!).
         I was not too concerned about the minor attention I was
      receiving from Decker regarding the assassination and its aftermath
      until August 7, 1966.  At 2:30 a.m, I was approached by Hardy M.
      Parkerson, an attorney from New Orleans, La.  Mr. Parkerson was
      interested in the assassination and the Jack Ruby trial.  I was
      working late nights on the Bond Desk when he came to the Sheriff's
      office.  He asked me several questions relating to these tragic
      events and I answered him as honestly as I could and he thanked me
      and left.  
         However, on October 1, 1966 Mr. Parkerson wrote to me advising
      me that I was receiving more publicity than I might be aware of.  
      He mentioned in his letter that he had picked up a book on a New 
      Orleans newsstand.  The book was entitled, "The Second Oswald" by 
      Richard H. Popkin and my report had been mentioned in the book.  
      This disturbed me as I knew my popularity with Decker was fading 
      anyway.  
         On October 18 I received another letter from Mr. Parkerson.  It
      seemed that he had come across another book on a New Orleans 
      newsstand which mentioned my name.  This one was "Inquest" by 
      Edward J. Epstein.  Then I began to worry a bit.  Of course other 
      names were mentioned also in these books but I was concerned 
      because of my employer's attitude and the fact that I was in 
      definite conflict with the Warren Commission in my testimony.
         In February of 1967 the lid blew off.  District Attorney Jim
      Garrison announced publicly his probe into the John F. Kennedy
      Assassination.  It wasn't long--in fact, a matter of hours--until
      Decker walked up to me and asked, "Have you been talking to Jim
      Garrison?"  I told him that I had not, which was the truth.  Decker
      then said, "Somebody sure as hell has."  That was the beginning of
      the end of my career as a law officer and my future in Dallas
      County.
         As more and more books critical of the Warren Commission began
      to hit the newsstands throughout the country and I received calls
      and visitors asking questions my future with the Sheriff's Office
      became VERY SHAKY.  Finally, on July 4, 1967 Bill Decker called me
      into his office and told me to check out.  Knowing there was no
      grievance board and that Decker was the supreme ruler of his
      domain, I left the Sheriff's Office for good.
         I was saddened by the loss of eight years in a job that I had
      given my ALL to.  But I was soon to find out that this was only the
      down payment on the price that I was to pay for the truth!  I
      immediately began looking for work and found that the Commerce Bail
      Bond Company was just opening an office and needed someone to help
      in the office as Les Hancock, the owner, was just starting out.
         Mr. Hancock and I had a long talk and he agreed that I would be
      an asset to the business because he knew nothing about it and I was
      familiar with bonds and most of the people at the Sheriff's Office
      as well as those wishing to make bond.  Les and I seemed to get
      along very well.  I posted most of the bonds and kept track of our
      clients.  Posting the first few bonds with the county went slowly
      --although the money was in escrow, Decker wanted to personally 
      approve *all* bonds posted by me.  I did not mind this delaying 
      tactic because all it involved was a little extra time for me.  The
      bonding business was going very well--within two months we were 
      making money.
         I kept up as much as possible on Jim Garrison's probe and
      decided to write him and tell him what I knew--if it would help
      him.  Jim Garrison answered my letter and asked me to call him, at
      which time he made arrangements for my trip to New Orleans.
         Les Hancock tried to persuade me not to go, saying I shouldn't
      get involved (a little late).  I arrived in New Orleans in late
      October and was picked up at the airport by Bill Boxley, one of
      Jim's investigators, and four men who *didn't* work for Jim.
      Boxley took me to a motel where I was to meet Jim and the other
      four men followed--apparently, they were not invited.  Most of my
      talks with Jim were at his office while my "tails" (apparently
      government agents) searched my room.  I must apologize to them for
      not bringing what they could "use."
         I had several meetings with Jim Garrison.  He showed me numerous
      pictures taken in Dealey Plaza on November 22, 1963.  Among them
      was a picture of a Latin male.  I recognized him as being the same
      man I had seen driving the Rambler station wagon in which I had
      seen Oswald leave the Book Depository area.  I was surprised and I
      asked Jim who the man was.  Jim did not know but he did say this
      man was arrested in Dealey Plaza immediately after the
      assassination but was released by Dallas Police because he could
      not speak English!  This was, to me, highly unusual.  In my
      experience as a police officer I had never known of a person (or
      prisoner) being released because of a language barrier.
      Interpreters were, of course, always available.
         We also discussed the 45 caliber slug found on the south side of
      Elm Street, in the grass, by E. R. (Buddy) Walthers.  Buddy had
      indeed found such a slug.  He and I discussed it the evening of
      November 22, 1963.  Buddy also gave a statement to the Dallas Press
      confirming this find (found among bits of brain matter).  However,
      he later denied finding it--after Decker had a long talk with him
      and subsequent to newsmen questioning the Sheriff about the
      evidence.
         Jim Garrison also had a picture of an unidentified man picking
      up this 45 slug and Buddy is also in that photograph.  I asked 
      Buddy about this many times--after his denial--but he never made 
      any comment.
         Jim also asked me about the arrests made in Dealey Plaza that
      day.  I told him I knew of twelve arrests, one in particular made
      by R. E. Vaughn of the Dallas Police Department.  The man Vaughn
      arrested was coming from the Dal-Tex Building across from the Texas
      School Book Depository.  The only thing which Vaughn knew about him
      was that he was an independent oil operator from Houston, Texas.
      The prisoner was taken from Vaughn by Dallas Police detectives and
      that was the last that he saw or heard of the suspect.
         Incidentally, there are no records of any arrests, either by the
      Dallas Police Department or the Sheriff's Office, made in Dealey 
      Plaza on November 22, 1963.  Very strange!  *Any* and *all* arrests 
      made during my eight years as an officer were recorded.  It may not
      have been entered as a record with the Identification Bureau but a
      report was always typed and a permanent record kept--if only in our
      case files.  A report on any questioning shows a reason for your
      action and protects you against false arrest.  I am saying that
      there is *absolutely* no record in the case files or any place
      else.
         Upon returning to Dallas from my first contact with Jim
      Garrison, I was picked up by another "tail".  I was followed
      constantly after that.  My wife could not even go to the grocery
      store without being followed.  Sometimes they would go so far as to
      pull up next to her and make sure she saw them talking on their
      two-way radios.  They would also park across from my house and sit
      for hours making sure I knew they were there.
         On the morning of November 1, 1967 I received a call from a
      friend of mine.  He owned a night club at Carroll and Columbia
      Streets in Dallas.  Bill said that he wanted to see me and would I
      meet him in front of the club.  Bill had called me many times when
      I was a deputy as he was frequently in financial trouble and I
      would have the citation issued for him held up until he was in a
      position to accept them.  Some people in Dallas did receive Special
      Treatment in the matter of citations.  Bill was not one of these
      but I did this for him because I knew that by holding it up a day
      or so I could save his credit rating--and the creditor would be
      paid without having a Judgment entered.  We were friends and it was
      a natural--and practical thing to do.  
         When Bill called me on November 1 he said he wanted to talk to 
      me about money he owed the Bonding Company where I worked--for 
      getting one of his employees out of jail on traffic tickets.  He
      had asked that I meet him at 9:00 a.m.  At about 8:30 a.m. "me and
      my shadows" started for the club, arriving at approximately 9:00 
      a.m.  
         When I parked in front of Bill's club "my shadows" began one of
      the sweetest set-ups I had ever seen.  One car, a tan Pontiac, 
      parked one block in front of my car, racing me, and the other, a 
      white Chevrolet with a small antenna protruding from the roof, kept
      circling the block again and again, never stopping.  There were two 
      men in the Chevrolet.  I couldn't get a good look at the driver but 
      the other man was in his early thirties.  He had dark hair, was 
      nice looking and wore a black-and-white checked sport coat.  
         Bill had never been late before for an appointment with me but
      he was this time.  When it was nearing 10:15 I began to worry that 
      those poor bastards would get dizzy from driving around and around
      --and might hit someone.  
         Finally, at 10:15 a.m. Bill arrived and we went to the Waffle 
      House across the street for coffee.  There, as big as life, sitting
      on a stool was the man in the sport jacket--from the white 
      Chevrolet.  Well . . .  we sat down and had coffee.  We talked 
      about how each of us was doing--just shot the bull--and Bill never 
      did bring up the subject which he had said he wanted to discuss 
      with me!
         When we finished we started to leave and the man in the sport coat
      jumped up and beat us out of the door.  We paid our checks and
      walked out the door and my shadow was nowhere in sight--believe
      me, I looked.  We crossed the parking lot and stopped at the
      traffic light, as it was red against us.  For some reason I stepped
      down off the curb before the light changed.  As I did, Bill fell
      flat on the sidewalk.  I was about to find out why.  At that very
      instant a shot rang out behind me and the hair just above my left
      ear parted.  I felt a pressure and sharp pain on the left side of
      my head.  I bolted for my car leaving Bill lying on the ground.  I
      heard him say, "You son of a bitch" and I jumped into my car and
      drove home as fast as possible.  When I arrived home I told my wife
      what this good friend had done for me.  I pondered the idea of
      moving my family to some safe place.
         A curious note:  my friend (?) Bill was deeply in debt and about
      to lose his business at the time of the shooting.  However, about a
      month later he was completely out of debt, his business was doing
      great and he had invested in two other businesses which were doing
      very well.  (Payment was, apparently, not withheld just because the
      trigger man missed.)  I decided to get in touch with Jim Garrison.
      I tried all day and finally reached him around ten that evening.
      After I told him what had happened he said someone would be at my
      home within the hour.
         At approximately 11 p.m. someone knocked on the door and I
      opened it with my left hand, holding my 45 automatic in my right
      hand.  Standing there was a small but well-built man in his late
      forties or early fifties.  He said, "My name is Penn Jones.  Jim
      Garrison called me."  My hand tightened on the 45 when my wife,
      Molly, took hold of me and said, "I've seen him on T.V.  *He is*
      Penn Jones."  With that I relaxed and he remained Penn Jones!
         Penn Jones listened to my story and then began making telephone
      calls to newsmen and wire services that he had contact with,
      explaining to me that the best protection for me was open coverage
      on the incident.  After a long talk with Penn Jones I found that I
      had a great deal of respect and admiration for this man.  Although
      small in stature, I felt he would fight the devil himself to find
      the truth about the assassination.
         The next day, November 2, 1967, when I went to work at Commerce
      Bail Bonds I was approached by two reporters and a photographer
      from Channel 8 in Dallas.  They had picked the story up on the news
      wire and wanted a personal interview.  After the interview my boss,
      Les Hancock, called me into his office and told me he didn't think
      that I should have done the interview (giving no specific reason).
         The next few days Les' attitude was very cold and he would barely
      speak to me.  Then, on the 7th of November he called me into his
      office once again.  This time he told me the business wasn't doing
      well and he would have to let me go because he was closing the
      office.  Of course, I knew better than this--after all I had access
      to all the records and I knew the business was making money.  A few
      days later I found out Les merely moved to another location and
      his business continued as usual.
         However, this knowledge did not help me for I was back pounding
      the pavement looking for work.  In the meantime I had been in
      contact with Jim Garrison.  He informed me that there was an
      opening at Volkswagon International in New Orleans and that I might
      try there.  By this time my health had begun to be affected.  I had
      undergone a serious stomach operation in August of 1963 and I 
      suffer from chronic bronchitis and emphysema (not to mention Dallas 
      County Battle Fatigue).
         My family and I made the trip to New Orleans, where I was
      interviewed by Willard Robertson, the owner of the company.  Mr.
      Robertson told me he was looking for a Personnel Manager and
      because of my background of dealing with the public he hired me.
      After a long trip back to Dallas where we gathered up our meager
      belongings we moved to New Orleans and I felt good--I was working
      again!
         We had been there but a few days when all of our neighbors and
      half the people where I was working knew who I was.  This was due
      to the newspaper and television coverage of Jim Garrison's probe
      into the assassination.  Again came the never-ending questions,
      which I did not mind because outside of Dallas people were
      sincerely interested and I certainly did not mind doing what I
      could to clear up any doubts they had.  The people at the office
      treated me very well.  
         Unfortunately, after about a month I realized that I was not 
      doing anything but going in to the office and coming home--nothing
      in between.  Although I appreciated Jim Garrison recommending me 
      for the job, I knew by this time that he had done this because he 
      was concerned about my safety and wanted me out of Dallas.  Because
      this company did not really need a Personnel Manager and I couldn't
      take the money for a job I was not doing, I submitted my 
      resignation to Mr. Robertson and my family and I returned to Dallas.
         We arrived back in Dallas on a cold and snowy seventh of
      January, 1968, and moved in with Molly's parents as we had very
      little money and nowhere to stay.  The next few days I spent
      looking for work.  I tried every ad and every lead I could find.
      The people who interviewed me always seemed interested but like all
      companies, they wanted to check out my references.  When I failed
      to receive any results from my efforts, I called some of the places
      where I had placed applications to see what was wrong.  I always
      received the same answer, "the position had been filled."  Finally,
      I decided something was WRONG and I suspected one employment
      reference, Bill Decker.  I had a friend write Decker asking for an
      employment reference--he never received an answer!
         My next move was to have someone call Decker and ask for a
      reference and this took some doing.  Writing him was one thing but
      talking to him on the telephone was another.  He would bait you on
      the telephone and, before you knew it, he knew who you were and
      whether you were legitimate or not.  
         Many people in Dallas liked Decker for the favors he could do 
      for them but those who did not like him were afraid of the 
      tremendous power he possessed in Dallas County.  They were afraid 
      to oppose him in any issue for fear that this man could, indeed, 
      affect their professional careers.  A good example is the charge, 
      "Hold for Decker."  This meant that when Decker wanted to talk to 
      you or some friend of his disagreed with an arrest (without 
      warrant), you were detained in the county jail until Decker wished 
      to talk or release you.  NO attorney in Dallas County would dare 
      apply for a writ of habeas corpus to secure your release.  
         Well, to get back to my "minor" problem, I finally found
      someone to call Decker for a reference and when he did Decker
      informed him that, "Mr. Craig had worked for me and I would not
      re-hire him and that is all I've got to say about Mr. Craig."  So .
      . . I had worked for the Sheriff for eight years and yet, without a
      reference, it was as though those years had never existed.  How do
      you explain this kind of situation to a prospective employer?
         After many more exhaustive interviews, I found a company, on
      February 1, 1968, which had just opened a branch office in Dallas
      and was in BAD need of security guards to work in department stores
      where they had new contracts.  When I applied for the job I told
      them of my background in law enforcement, leaving out the details
      of my separation with the Sheriff's Office.  I only showed them the
      watch I was wearing, which is inscribed:  Roger D. Craig, First
      Place, Sheriff's Department 1960.  (The award was for Officer of
      the Year).  They were impressed and with a sigh of relief I was
      hired without the customary background check.
         My first assignment was a department store in East Dallas, where
      I held the very important position of keeping the shopping baskets
      out of the aisles.  (Don't knock it--I was working 12 hours a day
      and making a whopping $1.60 per hour).
         By this time my creditors were knocking on my door day and
      night.  All of the furniture we had, which was not much, we lost
      and then "along came Jones."
         I had contacted Penn when I arrived back in Dallas and after I
      lost the car he let me use his 1955 Ford, which he wasn't driving,
      and I was back in business!
         Because of the crowded quarters at Molly's parents, we began to
      search for an apartment.  We found many and were turned down every
      time.  Some people said they did not want to rent to families with
      children.  Others would accept us and then when we were ready to
      move in, they would say it was already rented and they had
      "forgotten."  Finally, in mid-February we found a couple on Tremont
      Street, who were not afraid to rent to us.  Oh, they knew who I was
      but they said it did not matter--they had kept up on the
      assassination.
         Our only outlet for our tensions were the Sunday trips we made
      to the Penn Jones home in Midlothian, Texas.  During these visits I
      would try to bring Penn up to date on the latest from the Dallas
      Police Department and Sheriff's Office.  I was able to give him
      some help from time to time because I could keep in touch with
      these offices through officers there who were still friendly toward
      me.  It was fun and relaxing to get together with Penn and his wife
      L.A., who is a delightful person with a great sense of humor.  The
      two of them made you feel as though the whole world was right
      there.
         On one of these visits Penn told me he was going to appear on
      the Joe Pyne show in Los Angeles and asked if I would go with him.
      Needless to say, I owed Penn Jones much over the previous months
      and if I would be an asset, I was certainly prepared to go, I told
      him.  I got a leave of absence from my employer, Penn made the
      arrangements and we were off to Los Angeles.  
         The Los Angeles trip was a success as far as I was concerned, 
      especially when we spoke to the young people at U.C.L.A.  They were
      very concerned about the assassination and were kind to Penn and 
      me.  The only disappointment came in the form of Otto Preminger, 
      who was sitting in for Joe Pyne that night.  I think his statement 
      to the audience speaks for itself.  He said that he believed 
      whole-heartedly in the Warren Report and when I asked him if he had
      read the Warren Report, he said "no"!  After a week of appearances 
      on television and radio my lungs were beginning to give me trouble 
      and I returned to Dallas with Mrs. Jones, while Penn went on to San 
      Francisco.
         After a few weeks back on my important job of keeping the
      shopping carts in line I found that at a dollar and sixty cents an
      hour I had too much month left at the end of the money.  We were
      behind on our rent and, oh well, back to the want ads.
         We found a couple who were looking for someone to live in and
      care for their elderly mother, rent free.  After all this time
      there was something free?  Getting settled did not take very long-
      -with just a few clothes.  This worked out fairly well.  I worked
      twelve hours a day and Molly did all of the washing, ironing,
      cooking and cleaning--in addition to caring for Terry, Deanna and
      Roger Jr. (who had been staying previously with his grandmother).
      Did I say free?
         In the meantime Penn had returned from San Francisco and during
      a visit to our house he told me he could get me a job in Midlothian
      working at an oil refinery and that the pay was $500.00 per month.
      I hated to give up the prestige of my present position but money
      was money.  I gave my employer notice and on April 15, 1968 I
      started work at the refinery.  This was not crude oil but used
      motor oil--we re-re-processed it.  The work was new to me and I had
      never re-refined used motor oil before.  I found that I was a
      little soft.  I had to dump three thousand pounds (50 fifty-pound
      bags) of clay into hot oil every morning and pump it back into the
      still which cooked it.  This whipped me into shape quite
      rapidly.  I was not concerned with the physical work involved for I
      knew that I had a chance to support my family and that was what
      counted.
         The work went smoothly until the second Thursday of May, 1968
      when, while trying to start an engine at the plant, I slipped and
      broke my arm--"good ole lady luck."  I had my arm set and missed
      one day of work.  On Monday morning I returned to work, knowing I
      could not live on workmen's compensation, which was about $40.00
      per week.  I painfully continued to work with the arm in a cast for
      the next six weeks.  
         During this six week period my boss had offered to let me move 
      into a house he owned in Midlothian so that I would be closer to 
      work.  I took him up on the offer because I was driving sixty miles
      each day to work and back and Molly was worried about me driving 
      and working with the broken arm and--again I was being followed.  
         During this time a Dallas Sheriff's car stopped me and asked 
      where I was going.  I had known this deputy for several years and 
      there was no reason for his behavior.  Molly's health was getting 
      worse.  She had serious stomach disorders and the strain of past 
      events had not helped--so we moved.  Now we were in Midlothian and 
      I was driving four miles to work and back.
         During the time I was still driving back and forth from Dallas
      to Midlothian--or the job--I noticed that I was being followed by a
      blue and white pick-up, occupied by a white male.  One day, after
      being followed by this truck for several days, as the truck was
      approaching the driver stuck a revolver out the window and was
      about to fire, when another car pulled up behind me and he withdrew
      the pistol.  
         My hours were never the same two days in a row but this man 
      seemed to know the precise hour I would leave work.  Penn Jones and
      I tried to set a trap for this man but, apparently, he knew it and 
      got away.  I never saw him after that.
         It was six weeks since I had broken my arm and this was the day
      I was to have the cast taken off.  I felt good as it had been quite
      a burden.  On that morning I reported for work and started
      preparing the pumps and tanks for cooking the oil when lady luck
      smiled down on me once again.  I started to light the furnace and
      it blew up, burning my face and a good deal of hair and my arms.
      This was around the first of July, 1968.  After the doctor treated
      me, he advised me that I would have to wear the cast another two
      weeks because he was afraid that I would get an infection in the
      burned area if the cast were removed.  I do not want to leave the
      impression that my conflict with the Dallas establishment was the
      direct cause of these accidents.  However, had the door not been
      closed to me in Dallas, I would not have had to turn to work with
      which I was not familiar.
         In August of 1968 (while living in Midlothian) I received a
      visit in the middle of the night from a man in his fifties who said
      he was out of gas.  I was already in bed and Molly was catching up
      on some of my court records when this man came to the door.  Molly
      told him I was in bed with a sprained ankle and would not be able
      to help him.  She directed him to the neighbors down the road.  He
      went straight to his car, which was parked beside our house, got
      in, started it right up and drove off!  Apparently, he was not out
      of gas but wanted us to know we could be found.  This was about the
      time Penn was printing some pretty hot editorials in his paper with
      information I had supplied.  I guess someone didn't like it.
         I made some friends in Midlothian and was getting along fairly
      well.  I had a job, a place to live and was able to purchase a used
      car.
         The City Council was taking applications for a city judge.
      After talking it over with Penn Jones and some of my other friends,
      I went before the council for an interview, and, I must say, it was
      somewhat of a surprise when they appointed me.  The future was
      beginning to show some promise.  I continued the work at the
      refinery and pursued my new duties at city hall.
         On August 5, 1968, Bill Seward, the only other employee at the
      refinery, was discussing a better way to process the oil with Dale
      Foshee, the owner.  They were going to try something new in an
      attempt to obtain a better quality of oil.  Dale purchased a new
      type of clay which would absorb more waste from the used oil as it
      cooked.  Neither of these men told me that this new clay contained
      a substantial amount of some sort of acid.  This meant that when I
      dumped it (the clay) into the hot oil tank, as I did every morning,
      and did not wear any sort of breathing devise, I inhaled a great
      deal of the dust from this new product.  
         Shortly after I started cooking the oil I noticed I was having 
      trouble breathing.  I did not pay much attention to it and 
      finished the day's work.  That night the acid really got to me and
      I found myself passing out.  I tried lying my head right in the 
      window to get enough air--but still could not.  Penn Jones came to 
      the house and he and Molly rushed me to the hospital in Mansfield, 
      Texas, about ten miles from Midlothian.  I stayed under an oxygen 
      tent for two days.  On the fourth day I felt much better and was 
      released from the hospital.
         I had learned, about a week before going to the hospital, that
      the Justice of the Peace in Midlothian was resigning and I was
      persuaded by friends to seek that position.  I had talked with the
      county commissioners before I went to the hospital and they made
      their final decision on the day I came home from the hospital.  I
      was sworn in as Justice of the Peace on August 8, 1968.  I would be
      an appointee until the November election.  Now I was working at
      the refinery, holding the position of City Judge and also Justice
      of the Peace.  The city paid me $50.00 a month and the Justice of
      the Peace position brought in about $50.00 a month.  I was not
      getting rich but look at it this way, I was the entire
      establishment in Midlothian!
         The business for the city was very routine and went rather
      smoothly.  However, the Justice Court was another matter.  I was
      having to correspond with the surrounding counties and they were
      all cooperative, with one exception (you guessed it), Dallas
      County.  Some warrants, citations and subpoenas were sent to the
      Dallas County Sheriff for service.  Needless to say, they were
      returned "unable to locate"!
         So the door was still closed to me in Dallas--even in matters of
      the law which these officials were sworn to uphold.  Now, also
      Decker knew where I was and it was not long before my creditors,
      with whom I had been trying to make arrangements to pay a little to
      each month, had obtained judgments against me in the Dallas courts
      and I had been served with the papers.  Now there was no hope of
      clearing my credit without paying everyone in full, which was
      impossible (I'll bet his glass was really shining).  The next few
      weeks I managed to avoid my contact with the Good People of Dallas,
      hoping that they would forget about me--a fat chance!
         In October 1968, my oldest son (Roger, Jr.) wasn't doing well in
      school and he decided to run away from home.  I was, of course, 
      very concerned about him--he was only fourteen years old.  I 
      contacted the "Dallas Morning News" to see if they would print his 
      picture.  I might have just as well invaded Russia.  My name was
      immediately connected with Jim Garrison and before I could say stop
      the press, my name and connection with Jim was all over the 
      newspaper, UPI, radio and television.  I was getting calls from all
      over the country.
         A couple of days later we received a call from the sheriff in
      Texarkana, Arkansas.  He had Roger Jr..  We went to Arkansas and 
      retrieved him as quietly as possible.  He had been working for one
      day on a ranch.
         On October the seventh I reported to work at the refinery at 
      which time my boss handed me a check marked, FINAL.  He told me he 
      was cutting down on production due to a slowdown in business and he
      wouldn't need me anymore.  Now where have I heard that before?
         Being Justice of the Peace, I wasn't without influence in 
      Midlothian.  I soon secured a job at a gas station changing truck 
      tires.  Not much prestige but a lot of hours and I quickly 
      commanded the respect of every tire tool in the place.
         A few days later, my former employer came to me and said that I 
      would have to move out of his house because he wanted to use if for 
      a week retreat to get away from Dallas.
         By this time I was beginning to suspect the periodic publicity I
      had been receiving through the years, might have had something to 
      do with my trouble finding jobs and housing.  I guess I am a little 
      slow--especially when this former employer hired someone to take my 
      place at the refinery.  He let him move into the house where I 
      lived--as I found out sometime later.  So now I had to work 12 
      hours a day and try to find a place to move my family.  The 
      election was coming up.  This would not have been important except 
      for the fact that being Justice of the Peace served as a deterrent 
      from harassment by certain people, whose names I need not mention.
         It was November and I still had been unable to find a house to
      rent.  Midlothian was a very small town and there were just no
      houses to rent.  Anyway, the election was over and I had won by
      twenty votes.  No doubt, twenty people who did not read the paper
      or watch television.  I continued working at the gas station and
      living in my former employer's house.  The election had done at
      least one thing for me.  Dale still wanted me to move but was not
      pressing as hard.  The days which followed were hard--we had rain
      and some sleet and working in this was beginning to affect my
      health.  Molly was ill and Deanna, who had suffered from chronic
      bronchitis since birth, was not doing any better than we were.
      December was on us before I knew it and Mr. Roberts, the owner,
      decided to retire from the gas station.  This meant, of course,
      that I was back on the street.






                             *  *  *  *  *  * 





                                    IV


         Our President is lying up there cold beneath his flame
         He is calling out for vengeance and to do so in his name.
         To keep the peace forever and erase our nation's shame
         His dream goes marching on.


         This time there were no jobs to be found.  However, business in
      the Justice Court was somewhat improved due to the opening of a sub
      station in Midlothian by the Highway Patrol.  I could not pay the
      rent or meet the bills but the increase was enough to buy
      groceries.  I had resigned as City Judge so that there would be no
      conflict of interest between the two positions (City and County
      Court).  
         It was at this time that I was notified by District Attorney, 
      Jim Garrison, that he would need me in the upcoming Clay Shaw trial
      --another wrench in the machinery.  The night after I was notified 
      of this I received a telephone call and the voice asked if I was 
      going to go to New Orleans.  When I answered, "yes", he just said, 
      "get a one-way ticket" and then hung up.  I brushed this off as 
      just another crank.  I'd had those calls before.  However, the next
      day I received another call.  This time it was a different voice.  
      This one asked if I were going to New Orleans and when I said, 
      "yes", all he said was, "Remember you have a family" and hung up.  
      I must admit this worried me.  After that I would get up during the
      night and check the family and house--not a very pleasant way to 
      live.  
         During this turmoil I at last had a prospect of getting back 
      into that illusive pastime called "employment"--it was again Penn 
      Jones to the rescue--and I say this with the greatest respect and 
      admiration!  Penn had been corresponding with a friend of his in 
      Boulder, Colorado, regarding helping me find employment out of 
      Texas, which seemed the only thing left.  The friend suggested to 
      Penn that I make a trip to Boulder to check into some leads so the
      Jones family made the arrangements and I was off to Boulder.  This 
      was in January 1969.
         I arrived in Boulder and was met by members of the Students for
      a Democratic Society, whose names I will not mention.  (J. Edgar
      Hoover should not have his work made so easy.)  They took me from
      the airport and arranged for my lodging.  The next three days I
      filled out applications at various places, including the Boulder
      Police Department and Sheriff's Office because those were the
      positions I was most qualified for and I believed I could be a cop
      and still have compassion for my fellow men.  If they would not
      accept me that way, I could always quit--after all, I was an expert
      at being out of work.  
         After I had exhausted all possibilities, I thanked the people 
      who had been so kind to me and returned to Midlothian, Texas to 
      wait.  I had been home about one week when I received word from the
      Boulder Sheriff's Department that there would be an opening soon 
      and if I wanted the job, it was mine.  Satisfied that the out of 
      Texas bit was going to pay off, the Penn Jones, bless them, 
      financed the trip back to Boulder.  This time the family went with 
      me.  We drove straight through from Midlothian to Boulder.  The 
      second day in Boulder we found an apartment or two we might be 
      able to afford until I started getting regular pay checks.  I felt 
      good about having a chance at a new start as I went to see Under 
      Sheriff Cunningham.
         When I arrived at the Sheriff's Department, Cunningham took me
      to his office, asked me to sit down and closed the door.  It was
      then that I began to get that feeling I'd had so many times before
      when I was about to get the purple shaft.  Sure enough, I had
      managed to lose a job before I even started.  Mr. Cunningham began
      to ask me about my background with the Dallas Sheriff's Department
      (which he already knew from my previous visit) and the reason for
      my termination.  Then he brought out his big gun, "What about Jim
      Garrison?"  Well, knowing I'd been had, I told him I was going to
      have to testify in the Shaw trial (which I'm sure he already knew).
         I'd heard about every excuse there was for not hiring me but he
      should have handed me this one in a gift-wrapped "surprise"
      package.  "Mr. Craig," he said, (I had been Roger until then)
      "we've had a little situation here" and he went on--it seemed that
      one of their jailers had seduced a sixteen-year old girl while she
      was in their custody--WOW--and with *that* and my connection with 
      the Garrison probe, the heat would be more than they wanted to 
      handle.  He was sorry.  So was I--all the way back to Texas.  
         When we arrived back in Midlothian we were all exhausted and 
      very *disappointed*.  Molly had the flu, Deanna a bad cold and the
      strain of the past few weeks had taken its toll on me.  I was
      having trouble with my stomach and lungs and was down to 138 
      pounds.  It was February 1, 1969.  We had just enough money left 
      from the trip to perhaps rent a house and buy a few groceries.  
      Dale Foshee was pressing me again to move and I had nowhere to go 
      and no prospects of a job.  Like a wounded animal, I could only 
      think of returning to familiar surroundings--the place that I had 
      spent most of my adult life.
         We drove to Dallas and by some streak of luck sneaked by a
      property owner and managed to rent a house.  Before this poor,
      misguided soul could change his mind, we gathered up our belongings
      in Midlothian and moved back to Dallas, where I again applied my
      trade of LOOKING for work.  
         I spent the following days filling out many applications and 
      some of the interviews were even promising.  I was very careful not
      to mention any part of my involvement in the assassination.   
         However, on February 13, 1969 I was summoned to New Orleans to 
      testify in the Clay Shaw trial.  On the 14th when I finally took 
      the stand the defense tried very hard to discredit me by saying 
      that I worked in New Orleans and was, in fact, *still* working in 
      that city under an assumed name.  Failing to discredit me, they 
      accomplished the next best thing, the distorted version appeared in
      newspapers and wire services throughout the country.  
         When I returned to Dallas on February 16, 1969 I was to realize
      the full impact of this distorted news story for when I contacted 
      the job possibilities I had before I testified I found all doors
      closed.  On March 4--after several days of no openings, or being 
      told that I was not qualified, or that they would call me, which 
      they never did--I found a job with Industrial Towel and Uniform 
      Company of Dallas.  This was a rental company and they needed men 
      so that all I had to do was pass a polygraph test to prove I was 
      not a thief, which I passed!
         NOW I was a Route Salesman.  Ponder that awhile--a Judge reduced
      to picking up dirty laundry.  Oh, well, work is work!  Still weak
      and underweight from being sick during January and February, I was
      determined to make it on my new job.
         I left home at 5:45 a.m. and arrived at the plant a little after
      6:00 a.m., put my route slips in order, loaded my truck and started
      my deliveries.  I got back to the plant about 4:30 p.m., unloaded
      the dirty linens, turned in my money and charge slips and got back
      home around 6:30 p.m.  This was the season for cold, rainy
      weather--wouldn't you know?  I had been to a doctor who gave me
      some medication for the chest infection I had developed and the
      medicine kept me going until March 14--when I, literally, ran out
      of gas.  
         On March 18, Molly called Penn and told him that I was not
      any better.  Penn began to make arrangements for me to be admitted
      to the Veterans Hospital, where he was to meet me.  By this time I
      was out of it and Molly called an ambulance.  I had completely
      passed out by the time it had arrived.  I knew that I was going to
      the V.A. Hospital but when I woke up a short time later I knew I
      was not at the V.A. Hospital.  Those dirty bastards had taken me to
      Parkland Hospital, which has a reputation for saving people
      comparable to my employment record for the past two years.  I
      gathered what strength I had, got off the stretcher and staggered
      down the hall.  
        Molly had reached Penn, who was waiting at the V.A. Hospital, and
      he was madder than hell as he hated Parkland Hospital even more 
      than I did.  So, I finally wound up at the V.A. Hospital via Penn's
      car, where I spent the next ten days.  I was released from the 
      hospital on March 28, 1969 with instructions not to work out in the 
      weather until my lungs had improved.  This, of course, eliminated 
      my job as a route salesman.  
         I knew an inside job was going to be hard to find from my 
      experience during the past two years.  First of all, I knew that 
      when my rererences were checked Decker would not give me a 
      favorable recommendation--if he even gave one at all.  Second, my
      unstable employment record during the past two years had resulted 
      in a disastrous credit rating.  Eight years of experience in 
      various responsible duties at the Sheriff's Office were gone.  They
      had, indeed, done their work well!
         After many weeks of search I still had no job and was again
      behind on the rent.  At this point we took two cameras, one 8
      millimeter movie and one Minor still, our projector and screen and
      sold them for enough to rent a cheaper house.  We moved into a
      three room house on Gurley Street which wasn't much but it kept out
      the rain!
         One day I got a wild idea.  I would go down to the Federal
      Building and apply for a government job--those people will hire
      anybody--well, almost anybody.  I passed the civil service test and
      was told they had a job coming up in the office and I was qualified
      for it.  I was to go back in two days to begin work.  Things were
      certainly looking up.  I went over to my father-in-law's and drank
      all of his beer to celebrate.  
         The two days passed and I headed for my government job, which 
      was to be handling correspondence from other government agencies--
      they do a lot of writing to each other.  Well, when I arrived I was
      ushered into one of those cubby hole offices AGAIN, where I was 
      told that they had received a memo telling them the budget was 
      being cut and my job was being eliminated (I hadn't even started).  
      Oh, well, at least I was losing "more important" jobs now.  
         On June 1 I answered an ad for an Assistant Manager's job at a 
      liquor store, where the only qualification was that I pass another 
      polygraph test, which I did, proving that I had not yet turned to 
      stealing.  The next day I reported for work to find that I was a 
      delivery boy again.  My job was restocking private clubs throughout
      Dallas who bought merchandise from the store.  I soon made friends 
      with all the club owners and every time I would make a delivery, 
      they would insist on buying me a drink.  I was making $1.87 an 
      hour.  I wasn't the highest paid delivery boy in town but after a 
      few stops I was probably the happiest!
         In the meantime being out of work from March until June 1, I was
      again behind on the rent as well as the car payment on my used 1965
      Buick.  The landlord had asked us to move.  I tried to explain my
      situation and the fact that I was *now* working and would try to
      catch up on the rent but he didn't care--I had to go.  It was two
      weeks before I received a pay check.  I don't know how we made it
      but we did.  Molly then found a house for us to rent and I paid the
      first month's rent.  I didn't worry about the car payment any
      longer for two days after I started to work the bank repossessed
      the car.  We then again went back to driving one of Penn's cars.
         During the slow periods of the weeks which followed I was always
      searching the paper and talking to people--trying to find a better
      paying job with a little security.  I was working eleven hours a
      day, six days a week so it took me some time to locate one and I
      also had to be careful not to let people know too much about me
      because the general attitude in Dallas was not to get involved in
      the assassination.  (A little late for Dallas).  
         On September 18, 1969 I applied at Peakload, Inc., a temporary 
      employment service, who was looking for a dispatcher.  The job 
      consisted of taking orders from companies which needed temporary 
      help for a few days, selecting the men from the hall who were best
      suited to the customer's needs, then seeing that they were 
      delivered by our driver and picked up promptly after work.  Al 
      Nagel, the office manager, was from Minnesota and knew little of 
      the events in Dallas and nothing of the people involved in the 
      assassination so I slipped by and was hired.  Now I was doing 
      something which I enjoyed and the pay was $500.00 a month with 
      time and one-half for over 48 hours.   The next few weeks went by 
      swiftly.  I was working six days a week and making enough money to
      pay the rent, buy groceries and clothes for the kids.
         On November 10, 1969 I was taken to the V.A. Hospital again.
      This time with neuritis, which the doctors said was caused by a
      vitamin deficiency over a long period of time, and bronchial
      pneumonia.  This time I was not too concerned because Al Nagel
      liked my work and I was sure that I had a future with Peakload
      regardless of this temporary set back.
         Well, after twenty-four days of what seemed like endless
      injections of vitamins, penicillin and streptomycin (one hundred
      and twenty-eight in all) I was sent home on December 4, 1969.  The
      next day I called Al Nagel to tell him that I would return to work
      in a couple of days--when I got my strength back.  Al informed me
      that I no longer had the job--that I had been replaced.
         My final check from Peakload paid the rent for a month and
      bought a few groceries but Christmas was coming and I had managed
      somehow not to let the kids down--up until now.  While I was in the
      hospital Penn Jones brought a letter he had received from Madeline
      Goddard.  She had, apparently, read much on the assassination and
      sent her best wishes and support to us.  Also in the letter was the
      answer to this Christmas.  Madeline had enclosed a check for
      $100.00.  
         She did not realize it, I'm sure, but that kept us from throwing
      my hands up in the air and giving up.  The next few weeks were a 
      repetition of earlier days--no jobs, no money, no prospects (there 
      must be a song in there somewhere).  Our only means of eating those 
      days was Madeline Goddard's generosity;  God bless Madeline and her 
      generous heart.
         Penn Jones had a few acres of land in Boyce, Texas, a short
      distance from Midlothian and he had persuaded us to move into the
      smaller of two houses on this land.  We decided to go so that I
      could recuperate and regroup my thoughts.  By this time, January
      24, 1970, I was very depressed and ready to throw in the towel.
         Penn and his son, Penn III, moved our belongings into the small
      three-room house and I must say that the fresh air and freedom from
      Dallas and its citizens was a welcome change.  After a few days I
      felt better and began exploring our new surroundings.  Penn had
      seventy-eight head of cattle on the place and I was feeding twenty
      bales of hay to them every morning.  As my strength came back I
      also tackled various small, clean up jobs around the farm.  It was
      the least I could do--the rent was free and Penn paid the light and
      water bills.  We bought what butane we had to buy for heat and
      cooking.  How about this--in 1948 I ran away from home at age 12 
      and spent the next four years working on farms and ranches in the 
      west and northwest--now twenty-two years later I was back on the 
      farm!  There were days, however, when the rain and sleet would keep
      me inside, only venturing out when I had to (mostly to feed the 
      cows).
         The highlight of each day was when the mail man came as we were 
      now corresponding with Madeline Goddard regularly and always looked 
      forward to her letters.  I do not know what we would have done if 
      it hadn't been for this wonderful person.  If I live to be a 
      hundred, I couldn't repay her!
         Roger, Jr., was sixteen now and living with his grandparents in
      Dallas.  Terry and Deanna were going to school in Waxahachie, seven
      miles away.  They had to walk about three quarters of a mile to the
      school bus stop so in bad weather we would drive them to school.
      This was no easy job in the 1955 Ford of Penn's, which had seen
      better days.  I certainly do not mean to sound ungrateful--Penn
      Jones and his wife were wonderful to us--we will always hold them
      close.
         It was April when the larger house on the land in Boyce became
      vacant and Penn said that we could move into it.  We needed the
      room and I would be closer to the stock and the feed for them was
      also in the barn near that house.  Living in the bigger house was
      much easier and it was about this time that Penn decided to try to
      raise Holstein calves.  There were no jobs in this small county and
      maybe we could make some money on this venture.
         Molly, Terry, Deanna and I drove Penn's Travelall truck to
      Cleburne, where we picked up the calf Penn had bought on a pilot
      project.  At three days old, the calf was a big baby at 80 pounds
      or more.  Every morning at 7:00 a.m. Molly fixed the calf's bottle
      and we took turns feeding him until he decided that Molly was his
      mother.  Cute--but something she wasn't ready for!
         We continued taking care of the cattle for several weeks and
      during this time two calves were born.  We named one, a little bull
      calf, "Jones" and the other a heifer calf, Deanna named "Susie."
      They became her only playmates.  However, I wasn't making one red
      cent and the only help we received was from Madeline who, God
      knows, was carrying the burden of feeding my family.
         On May 15 a decision had to be made.  It was apparent that the
      calf project wasn't going to materialize and Penn was talking of
      selling some of the land and cattle.  It looked as though Penn was
      having financial problems and I did not want to add to them.  So,
      Molly and I talked and decided the best thing for us was to drive
      to Dallas and make arrangements to stay with someone and for me to
      try *one more time* (there's that song title).  We talked to my
      mother, who said we could move in with her until I found a job and
      a place to live.
         As we drove back to Boyce we spoke of our apprehension about
      moving but when we drove into the yard we knew it was the thing to
      do.  The front door of the house was standing wide open.  I knew
      what was gone even before I got out of the car.  I was right.  The
      30-40 Krag rifle (the only one I had managed to hang onto), Terry's
      30.30 Winchester, which he had received as a gift, his 410 shotgun,
      and the 12 gauge automatic shotgun Penn had loaned me were all
      missing.  These were our only means of protection in this place so
      far in the country with no telephone or close neighbors.  Now we
      had been stripped of that.  Coincidence?  Maybe.  I was very uneasy
      and the sooner we got out of there, I felt, the better.
         It took two days and two sleepless nights to arrange the move
      but we did it and were back in Dallas and staying with my mother.
      By this time my physical health was somewhat improved and my mental
      attitude was back to normal.  This was due to the words of
      encouragement I had received from Madeline and others who had
      written to us over the past months to let me know that there were
      people in this country who cared.  I was ready for any opposition
      from the Political Monster which ruled Dallas and even the very
      lives of those so-called Business and Civic leaders who did not
      have the guts to stand on their own two feet!  As I thought over
      the past years, I was even amused that *I*, a man of limited
      education and no social position in this City of Purity, had struck
      fear into the hearts of its *great* leaders by just speaking to
      them on the street!
         Although I had not worked steadily since my termination from the
      Dallas County Sheriff's Department, I did not forget my obligation
      as an American.  Thus, when asked by certain critics of the Warren
      Report to help, I did what I could.  Imagine the turmoil it will
      cause when and if the Dallas Police read this and find out I have
      copied and turned over to a certain editor several names, addresses
      and telephone numbers of people connected with the assassination of
      John F. Kennedy which were LOCKED in the files of the Dallas Police
      Intelligence Division.  Not to mention the files which were
      photostated and smuggled out of the Dallas County Mail under Bill
      Decker's nose (all after I left the Sheriff's Department).  Even
      though I have not made any money in the past few years, I hope I
      was able to help those who have spent so much time investigating
      the assassination, who certainly haven't made any money either!
         The last week of May, 1970 I got lucky.  The ad in the newspaper
      read, "Wanted Dispatcher for temporary labor company".  The Company
      was Peakload.  I quickly made a call to the chief dispatcher, with
      whom I had worked previously, and found he was working sixteen
      hours every day.  He was so happy to hear from me, because of his
      workload, that he offered to come and get me so that I could go to
      work that day.  The company had a new office manager, Jim Morris.
      I went in immediately to apply--at the urging of the chief
      dispatcher, Bill Funderburke--and for an interview with Jim Morris,
      the manager.  He was from Ft. Worth and knew more about the
      assassination and me than I would have preferred (from the
      questions he asked me concerning Bill Decker, Jim Garrison and
      others who had made the news).  However, the office was in trouble
      as they had not been able to keep an evening dispatcher for more
      than three or four weeks at a time since I worked there in 1969.
         With a word of caution as to my activities, Jim put me to work.
      This made Bill very happy as the pressure was now off him.  I knew
      the work, the customers and most of the men I would be dealing with
      so Peakload did not have to worry about breaking in a new man.  The
      rest of May and early June passed uneventfully but around the
      middle of June Molly went into Baylor Hospital, through the clinic
      as we could not afford a private doctor or the high rate of regular
      hospital services (I had only worked a short time and we still had
      a balance owing on Molly's surgery in August 1969).  On June 26
      Molly underwent major surgery.  She had been under a tremendous
      strain the past years and was physically and mentally exhausted.
         During this period I had managed to gather enough money to buy a
      1962 Ford from a friend.  It was not the best car in the world but
      it was only a hundred and fifty dollars and it did run.  I paid
      $50.00 down and was to pay him the rest in a month or so.  I also
      rented a small apartment and it seemed good to once again be by
      ourselves in our own home.  But our new found *Wealth* was short
      lived.
         Shortly after this, a self-professed private detective in
      Dallas, by the name of Al Chapman, had written a story about new
      evidence in the assassination which he had sold to the "National
      Enquirer."  In this article he quoted me as saying that I had given
      certain information to him and had personally identified a picture
      of a man and car saying it was Lee Harvey Oswald and his
      accomplice.  
         The entire story, with reference to me, was completely false.  I
      had never been interviewed by this man and had at no time seen the 
      picture to which he referred.  Al Chapman, prior to the 
      assassination, was a custodian for a church in Oak Cliff.  There is
      a good deal of mystery about him for he will not reveal his
      business or residential address.  Nor is the name of the church
      available.  Although he is a part-time private investigator, he has
      no license.
         The story was all over the office and Jim was concerned as he
      had been keeping up on anything written involving these events.
      Before long the F.B.I. and the Dallas Police were making regular
      visits to the office on the pretext of looking for "Jim Jones" or
      "Tom Smith" or any excuse they could use to let me know they could
      also read!  The heat was on.  Jim was constantly there--everytime I
      looked up--which was unusual.  This leech, this skid row bum, and I
      *am* referring to Al Chapman, in his lust for money, not caring
      whom he hurt, had not only sold his story but my future with
      Peakload as well.
         On July 17, 1970, I reported for work to find another man doing
      my job.  I was told by this "replacement" that Jim wanted to see
      me.  As I sat in Jim's office I knew what was coming.  Jim said,
      "Roger, you've done a good job but it is time for a change."  I
      asked him for an explanation but all he would say was that it was
      time for a change and he was sorry!
         Bill Decker died in August.  The County Commissioners appointed
      his executive assistant, Clarence Jones, to fill the job until
      November, when he had to run for election (with the backing of the
      Democratic Party).  For the first time since Decker's reign, the
      Republicans nominated someone to oppose a Democrat for the office.
      The man was Jack Revel, former Chief of the Dallas Police
      Intelligence Division.  This meant that the voters had the choice
      between two evils.  Well, Clarence Jones was elected--his campaign
      signs and posters read, "Elect Clarence Jones - In the Tradition of
      Bill Decker"!  It would be nice if Jack Revel would be upset enough
      over his loss of the election to make public some information--but
      this is very wishful thinking indeed.
         Meanwhile, I am still out of a job (but still looking).  I would
      like to think that the people of Dallas will change and rise up
      against the dishonest and irresponsible tyrants who govern in their
      name--but I do not see it happening in the near future.  Dallas is
      my home but I will always feel like an outsider because I simply
      will not adjust to the idea that for Dallas, for Texas, for America
      this must serve as DEMOCRACY.







                        A Few Odd and Interesting Facts


         Allen Sweatt, Decker's Chief criminal investigator, let me know
      that he was aware of my friendship with Hiram Ingram and that he
      did not like it one bit.
         Before I departed the Sheriff's Office for good Allen Sweatt and
      I talked a couple of times and he revealed to me that he knew Lee
      Harvey Oswald.  He also told me that Oswald worked for the F.B.I.
      as an informer, that he was paid $200.00 a month and his code
      number was S 172.


      ROBERT PERRIN AND NANCY PERRIN RICH

         When Penn Jones wanted the records of Robert Perrin, the ex-
      husband of Nancy Perrin Rich, I had to find a new source of
      information.  (I won't release this name for obvious reasons.)  It
      seems that Nancy Perrin was connected with Jack Ruby, Clay Shaw and
      Lee Oswald at about the time of President Kennedy's death.
         Robert Perrin was reported to have committed suicide in New 
      Orleans, La.  The autopsy showed no visible scars, marks or tattoos
      and Penn knew that Perrin had been arrested in Dallas and wanted me
      to get the records of the arrest along with his description.  After 
      some doing I finally obtained the record.  It showed that Perrin 
      had several tattoos and part of his right index finger was missing.
      None of this information showed up on the autopsy report.  It would
      be interesting to know who WAS buried in Robert Perrin's place and
      where Robert Perrin is now, wouldn't it?







                                  ADDENDUM


                    The favorite pastime in Dallas
                    Is a game they call murder with malice.
                    They don't ask your leave.
                    But not to deceive. . . .
                    To tell you would be - well, too callous.



      CAR ACCIDENT

         On Wednesday, October 27, 1970 I went to downtown Dallas to Jack
      Revel's campaign headquarters to pick up some campaign signs.  The
      headquarters were not open and I decided to visit a friend who
      works at a restaurant across the street.  While talking with my
      friend the conversation turned, as it so often does, to the
      assassination.  He and I had discussed this in the past.
         During the course of our conversation a man who I had not met
      before entered into the conversation.  He, of course, did not know
      me (not to my knowledge).  I told him that I was from out of town
      and that I was interested in facts that hadn't been printed and in
      persons that had known Jack Ruby and Lee Oswald.  This man said, "I
      knew Oswald and Ruby.  I can tell you anything you want to know
      about them."
         At this point I became very interested and I told him again that
      I'd sure like to know first hand what they were like.  He said, "I
      knew Ruby well--I had seen Oswald a couple of times in Ruby's
      place."  I then said, "Well, in Ruby's business--the night club--I
      imagine a lot of people were seen there."  He sort of chuckled and
      said "Huh--Jack Ruby's business was spelled Mafia."  He then said,
      "I can show you a used car lot where Ruby collected a lot of
      gambling money over on Ross Avenue" (it was the 4600 block of Ross
      Avenue).  So I offered to drive him over there and he said, "No--do
      you have your car here?"  I did.  He said I should follow him,
      which I did.  I parked my car on the same side of the street as the
      car lot, a short distance down and walked back to his car.  I
      opened the door of his car on the passenger side and he pointed to
      the car lot and said, "That's where a lot of the money comes in
      from the gambling operation and Jack picked it up here."
         He said, "If you really want to know what's going on in Dallas
      you have to talk to someone who's been around--and I've been around
      in those circles."  Then he said, "Just leave your car parked there
      and come with me--I'll show you something that's REALLY 
      interesting."  He drove me to 300 1/2 South Ewing in the Oak Cliff 
      area to an apartment that had been a family dwelling and was
      converted into apartment units.  I should mention here that Jack
      Ruby's address at the time of the assassination was 323 South
      Ewing.  
         The apartment at 300 1/2 South Ewing is upstairs and when we 
      walked into the apartment there was a distinct feeling of an 
      unlived-in atmosphere.  The furnishings were bare.  There was a
      couch, chair and coffee table--no lamps, no ash trays, nothing on
      the walls.  The man had been smoking so it was odd that there were
      no ash trays.  He said, "How about a cup of coffee?"  We went into
      the kitchen, he opened the cabinet and said, "Oh well, I guess I'm
      out of coffee."  He was also out of everything else as there was
      nothing in the cabinet.
         The arrangement of the apartment was unusual as you had to go
      through the bedroom to the kitchen, which was very small.  The
      closet door was open in the bedroom.  However, there were no
      clothes in it.  At that time I became slightly nervous about the
      situation.
         We went back into the bedroom from the kitchen.  While in the
      bedroom he said, "I want to show you something."  He opened the top
      drawer of the dresser and pulled out a shoulder holster--there was
      a 32 revolver with a three inch barrel in the shoulder holster.  He
      pulled the 32 out of the holster and said, "what do you think about
      that?"  I remarked that you don't see many 32's with a barrel like
      that.  He put the 32 back in the drawer and went around to the side
      of the closet which was not visible when you went into the kitchen.
      At that time he produced two rifles--one was a bolt action which
      looked like a 30.06, the other was a high power automatic which
      appeared to be a 257 caliber.  
         I remarked that they were nice rifles and I would like to have a
      good deer hunting rifle.  He then laid those two on the bed and he 
      said, "You haven't seen anything yet."  He then got down on the 
      floor and he pulled 5 more rifles from under the bed.  Each of 
      these were equipped with scopes.  He then pulled a cardboard box 
      about 13 inches long and 10 inches deep also from under the bed.  
      The box was closed and on the side was printed "Ammunition - Handle 
      With Care."  He then slid the rifles and ammunition back under the 
      bed.  I said jokingly, "What are you gonna do--start a war?"  He 
      said, "Could be."
         At that time he looked at his watch and said "excuse me just a
      minute, I have to go down to the landlady's apartment and make a
      phone call--I promised some people I would call them" (there was no
      telephone in the apartment).  He was gone for about ten minutes.
      During this time I made a mental inventory of the apartment.  After
      he returned he asked me if I was ready to go back to my car.  There
      was a pay phone on the corner from the apartment and I asked him to
      pull over so that I could call the people who owned the car (I had
      told him that it was borrowed while I was in Dallas), that I wanted
      to let them know that the car was okay.  From the pay phone I
      called my wife and gave her the man's name and address and told her
      of the situation.  His name--as he gave me is A.E. Allen, 300 1/2
      South Ewing, Dallas, Texas.
         Before we went to his apartment, or the apartment, I told him
      being from out of town that I didn't know much, but that I had
      heard that Ruby was in the gun running business.  He said that Ruby
      wasn't actually buying and selling weapons.  That people in higher
      positions made the arrangements for the buying and selling of
      weapons.  That Ruby was mainly the go-between for delivering the
      money and making arrangements for the storage of the weapons until
      they were shipped out.
         During the course of the evening he made the statement several
      times that, "if you want to stay healthy, don't say anything to
      anybody in Dallas about the assassination unless you're damn sure
      you know who you're talking to."
         He then said that there were a lot of people in Dallas who were
      out to "get" him because he knows too much. ?
         One of the strangest things that he did was to drive on East
      Jefferson to a used car lot and stop.  There were two men inside
      the office and he went in and talked to them.  I stayed in the car
      and could see them through a window of the office.  He was in there
      only a few minutes.  His car was a light blue Oldsmobile 66 model.
      When he came out of the office he got into a gray Olds sitting on
      the lot and he drove it onto the drive stopping just before he
      entered the street--he motioned to me--I was watching him.  I got
      out of the blue Olds and he took me back to my car in the gray
      Olds. ?
         On the way to my car across town, he kept repeating there's a
      lot more to this (the assassination) than they'll ever know.  In 
      taking me to my car he cut across to Ft. Worth Avenue.  While 
      driving slowly along he pointed out certain private clubs--saying 
      that he wasn't allowed in one or the other.  My first thought was 
      that he was trying to give me the impression that he was 
      knowledgeable about the workings of the Dallas underworld.  
      However, it really seems that he was using a delaying measure--
      since it took from 10:00 p.m. until 11:15 p.m. to drive me to my
      car--an ordinary 15 minute drive at that time.
         When I got out of his car at mine he said, "I'll call you
      tomorrow."  Earlier in the evening he had implied he was going to 
      give me more information.  I had given him a number to reach me by.  
      Needless to say I did not hear from him after the incident that 
      followed!
         I had locked my car when I parked it.  When I got into it I
      turned the key over to start the engine.  At this point there was a
      muffled type explosion and then smoke came out the sides of the 
      hood.  The hood had a double latch and didn't blow.  Fire was 
      coming through the air vents under the dash and a pillow was 
      burning inside the car.  
         I jumped out of the car and raised the hood.  The engine, hoses, 
      firewall and even under the bell housing was all ablaze.  Several 
      persons came up and someone called the fire department.  A man
      named Bill Booken was walking by at about the time it happened.
      The fire department used 2 cans of chemical to extinguish the fire.
      This was one of the hottest fires I had ever seen.  There was no
      smell of gasoline before or after, there was no back fire as the
      car had not started and afterwards the gas lines were checked and
      there were no leaks.  There was an air breather on the car and in
      fact, there was no mechanical reason for the explosion.
         This happened at 4625 Ross Avenue.  Mr. Booken took me to
      Anderson's Restaurant at 4909 Ross Avenue where I called my wife
      and she arranged for my brother Duane to come after me.  I didn't
      know that I had been injured until I felt the warm blood running
      down my shirt after my brother picked me up.  I had lost quite a
      lot of blood by the time I went to the emergency room.  I was there
      for three hours.  A police report was made.  I had received 5
      puncture type wounds in the chest area.  One vein had been severed
      and had to be tied and stitches taken in the wounds.  X-rays were
      also made.  I went to our family physician the following day and
      had the stitches removed the following Monday.  It was never
      completely determined what hit me.  Another close call!  The doctor
      at the emergency room said I was lucky the wounds had not been
      lower and our family physician said I was lucky the wounds were not
      in the neck.  So . . . I suppose I'm just lucky all the way round!




--
                                             daveus rattus   

                                   yer friendly neighborhood ratman

                               KOYAANISQATSI

   ko.yan.nis.qatsi (from the Hopi Language)  n.  1. crazy life.  2. life
       in turmoil.  3. life out of balance.  4. life disintegrating.  
         5. a state of life that calls for another way of living.