Oswald Ruby And JFK

Overnight, the case against Lee Harvey Oswald strengthened. In the Dallas Police Department Crime Lab, Lt. Carl Day discovered a palm print matching Oswald’s on the underside of the Mannlicher Carcano rifle barrel. Several of the boxes and the brown bag paper found on the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository also bore the accused assassin’s finger and palm prints.

Pressured by the FBI, Chief Curry released several crucial pieces of evidence to the federal agency. Tension between the local and federal authorities had heightened in the hours after President Kennedy’s assassination. Dallas Police officials were less than happy about the FBI’s failure to warn them that a Russian defector was working in a building overlooking the presidential motorcade. At the same time, the FBI believed local authorities were trying to shift responsibility for JFK’s death to parties outside of Dallas.

Since Oswald would be prosecuted in Dallas, Captain Fritz did not see the need to share evidence with the FBI. President Johnson, however, had instructed FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover to instigate a separate investigation. In the end, Chief Curry agreed to allow the FBI to keep possession of certain pieces of evidence for a twenty-four hour period.

In the wee hours of Saturday morning, Special Agent Vincent Drain boarded an Air Force C-135 tanker jet bound for Washington D.C. Drain, a Dallas-based agent, carried with him the suspect’s rifle and pistol, two of the three spent cartridge casings discovered on the sixth floor of the depository, the single unfired bullet found in the rifle chamber, the blanket used to conceal the rifle, the paper bag used to transport the weapon to the school book depository, the suspect’s .38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver, the pistol casings found at the Tippit murder scene, the unfired pistol bullets found in Oswald’s revolver and his pants pocket, the suspect’s shirt, and the various identification cards found in Oswald’s wallet.

A by-product of the animosity between the local and federal agencies was miscommunication—the FBI was unaware that Lt. Day had discovered Oswald’s palm print on the underside of the rifle barrel. When the FBI seemingly failed to discover evidence uncovered by the local authorities, the tension between Washington and Dallas was further magnified.

FBI laboratory technicians did discover fibers in the butt plate of the Mannlicher Carcano rifle that matched Oswald’s shirt. Inside the brown paper bag, the FBI experts found fibers consistent with the blanket used to conceal the rifle, when it was stored in the Paine’s garage.

The FBI also traced the purchase of the Mannlicher Carcano to Klein’s Sporting Goods in Chicago. The weapon had been delivered to A. Hidell at a Dallas post office box rented by Lee Harvey Oswald. FBI document experts analyzed the handwriting on the mail order coupon used to purchase the rifle, proving that A. Hidell and Lee Harvey Oswald were one in the same.

At 1:30 a.m., Oswald was awakened in his jail cell. The bleary-eyed prisoner was taken to the Identification Bureau on the fourth floor of Dallas Police Headquarters, where he was greeted by a somber group, including Captain Fritz, Chief Curry, and Assistant District Attorney Alexander. Justice of the Peace David Johnston stood behind a countertop and grimly eyed the disheveled Oswald.

“Is this the trial?” Oswald sarcastically asked .

“No,” Johnston replied, “I have to arraign you on another offense.”

Complaint F-154, signed by District Attorney Wade, was read to the prisoner. The blanks of the affidavit were filled in by hand, and stated that Lee Harvey Oswald did then and there unlawfully voluntarily and with malice aforethought kill John F. Kennedy by shooting him with a gun .

The twenty-four year-old self-proclaimed Marxist had left an indelible mark in the annals of history. The reading of the charges, however, brought little more than a shoulder shrug from Oswald, who seemed nonchalant about the whole affair.

After leaving the Dallas Times Herald , Jack Ruby was still in no condition to sleep. As he cruised through the lightly traveled early morning streets, Ruby suddenly remembered an offensive sign that he had observed the night before; the billboard had been paid for by a local right wing group and featured a simple message: IMPEACH EARL WARREN. Impulsively, Ruby drove to his apartment and awakened his roommate, George Senator, at 4:30 a.m. He then called Larry Crafard, his live-in employee, and told him to grab the Carousel Club’s Polaroid camera, and wait outside until Ruby arrived. Twenty minutes later, Ruby and Senator picked up Craford, and the trio drove to the sight of the billboard near Hall Avenue and the Central Expressway. An agitated Ruby insisted that Crafard take three separate photographs of the sign.

In his troubled mind, Jack Ruby linked the IMPEACH EARL WARREN sign with the WANTED FOR TREASON ad in Friday’s Dallas Morning News . Ruby copied the post office box number from the billboard, mistakenly identifying it as the same one that he had seen in the offensive newspaper advertisement.

Ruby then drove to the post office, where he asked the night clerk for the name of the person renting the box number listed on the billboard. When the postal employee told him that he could not provide such information, the three men peered through box’s glass window, where Ruby was angered to see a stack of mail. More than ever, Jack was convinced a nefarious group was trying to frame the Jewish community for the messages of hate and acts of violence in the Dallas area .

After examining the post office box, the three men went to a downtown coffee shop. Ruby found a day old copy of the Dallas Morning News , and once again examined the WANTED FOR TREASON ad. Teary-eyed and angry, Ruby repeatedly mumbled to himself as he stared at the offensive page. After thirty minutes, Ruby dropped Crafard off outside the Carousel Club, and drove back to his apartment. Nearing 6:00 a.m., Jack went to bed—his tumultuous day had finally come to an end.

Robert Oswald did not know exactly where to go. The accused assassin’s older brother did not want to return home and drag his wife into the frightening and uncertain mess, and certainly could not share his concerns with his unbalanced mother. Alone, he drove from Dallas to Fort Worth, then turned around and came back. Robert was uncertain about his own future. Would the world declare him guilty by fraternal association? Would he lose his job? Would he be forever known as the brother of the man who murdered the President?

Eventually, Robert checked into a hotel near the Dallas police station. He was uneasy about how to sign the guest register, wondering if his last name would draw attention and perhaps ridicule. He thought for a moment before signing his own name to the book.

When he gave the guest his room key, the clerk smiled, cheerfully and without recognition, “Good night, Mr. Oswald.”

President Lyndon Johnson did not fall asleep until well after midnight. After being taken by helicopter from Andrews Air Force Base to the south grounds of the White House, Johnson met with senior members of Congress in his vice-presidential suite in the Old Executive Office Building. As bold as he might be, Johnson was unwilling to occupy the Oval Office on the same day that his predecessor had been murdered. He also resolved to give Jacqueline Kennedy as long as she needed to move out of the White House living quarters.

The new President prepared handwritten letters to President Kennedy’s children expressing his admiration for their father and sorrow at his death. Later in the evening, the Secret Service transported Johnson to his home, The Elms, located in a fashionable section of Washington D.C.

Reclining atop the bed in his pajamas, Johnson watched the continuing news coverage of the assassination. Every so often, the new President would bark out orders to his aides, who were sitting in chairs next to the bed, legal pads and pens in hand. When the Commander-in-Chief finally dozed off, the exhausted staff members tiptoed out of the room to find beds of their own.

A string of headlights illuminated the darkness, just before dawn, as the gray naval hearse carrying the flag draped coffin of the 35th President of the United States cruised slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue, before entering the White House gate.

After a very long day, John F. Kennedy had returned home.

Before leaving the police station on Saturday night, Chief Curry told the assembled reporters that Oswald would not be transferred to the county jail until the next day. The eager newsmen pressed Curry for details.

“I think if you fellows are back here by ten o’clock in the morning, you won’t miss anything,” Curry announced.

At 2:30 a.m., an overnight security clerk at the FBI office in Dallas received an anonymous phone call: “I represent a committee that is neither right nor left wing. And, tonight or tomorrow morning, we are going to kill the man that killed the President. There will be no excitement, and we will kill him. We wanted to be sure to tell the FBI, police department, and sheriff’s office. We will be there and we will kill him.” The caller immediately hung up after delivering the threat.

Dallas County Deputy Sheriff C.C. McCoy received a similar call during the wee hours of the morning. The mysterious caller warned: “A group of a hundred people has voted to kill the man who killed the President.”

The FBI and Dallas County Sheriff’s Office compared notes and shared the threats with Chief Curry. When Curry arrived at police headquarters on Sunday morning, a decision was made to transfer Oswald from the city jail to the county facility in an armored truck. A local armored transport company was contacted and agreed to deliver a vehicle to the Dallas police department.

Chief Curry conferred with Captain Will Fritz about the transfer. Fritz told Curry that he should be finished with his interrogation of Oswald by the scheduled transfer time of 10:00 a.m. Curry planned to escort Oswald out of City Hall through the basement garage, and then load him into the armored truck for transport to the county jail, ten blocks away. Uniformed officers were ordered to clear the basement of all reporters and cameramen, such that the entire area could be thoroughly searched. Policemen were posted at the two ramps leading into the basement, and the newsmen were allowed to re-enter only if they had proper identification. The general public was barred from coming down either the Main or Commerce Street ramps. The external doors to City Hall were also locked to prevent access from sidewalk traffic.

Since the arrest of Lee Harvey Oswald, less than forty-eight hours ago, the Dallas Police Department had done a credible job of building two strong murder cases against him. In a brief interview with the press, Captain Fritz pronounced the case cinched . The police department’s remaining task was to safely deliver the prisoner to the county lock up, where he would remain until his murder trial.

The Dallas Police Department usually handled the transfer of prisoners to the county jail. Aware of threats against Oswald, Dallas County Sheriff Bill Decker was concerned about the prisoner’s safety, and recommended a night-time transfer, when there were fewer people on the city streets. Chief Curry, wanting to cooperate with the press, stuck with his original plan.

Jack Ruby awakened around 9:30 a.m. and read the Dallas Times Herald , immediately focusing on an article entitled My Dear Caroline . Ruby had gone to bed in emotional turmoil a few hours earlier, and his mood only worsened as he read about President Kennedy’s young daughter. George Senator, Ruby’s roommate, noted that Jack was mumbling to himself, and appeared to be in shock . Ruby kept reading the morning newspaper, as continuing coverage of the presidential assassination ran across the television screen in his apartment .

Another Times Herald article caught Ruby’s eye—District Attorney Henry Wade was quoted as saying that Jacqueline Kennedy might have to return to Dallas to testify in Oswald’s murder trial. Jack was appalled at the idea of the former First Lady returning to the city where her husband had been murdered. Of course, if something happened to Oswald, there would be no trial.

Elnora Pitts, the elderly African American woman who regularly cleaned Jack’s apartment, called him in the middle of the morning. Pitts felt like she was talking to a total stranger, as Ruby seemed distracted and disoriented. After hanging up the phone, Pitts was uneasy, and decided to wait a few hours before traveling to Ruby’s apartment, telling her daughter, “He don’t sound right.”

In Washington D.C., the second full day of official mourning for President Kennedy was underway. In a black dress, with her two small children in hand, Jacqueline Kennedy watched her husband’s flag draped coffin carried out of the North Portico of the White House, where it was placed atop the same horse-drawn caisson that carried the body of President Franklin Roosevelt, some eighteen years earlier. President and Mrs. Johnson joined Jacqueline Kennedy and her two children, as well as Robert Kennedy, in the first of ten cars that followed the caisson and a riderless horse up Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol building. Military drummers provided a muffled cadence as the procession made its way through the chilled morning air. President Kennedy’s body would lie in state in the Rotunda of the Capitol for the remainder of the day and night; thousands of people were already lined up in four-deep rows to view the casket.

When the procession reached Capitol Hill, the Navy band played a soft, mournful rendition of Hail to the Chief . Mrs. Kennedy, who had thus far remained composed, wept openly when she heard the familiar tune.

Postal Inspector Harry Holmes had reached his church, when he decided that he might be able to assist Captain Fritz with the interrogation of Lee Harvey Oswald. After dropping his family off in front of the church building, Holmes drove to the Dallas police headquarters, and greeted Fritz in the Homicide and Robbery Bureau.

“We’re getting ready to talk with Oswald, one more time, before we transfer him to the county jail. Would you like to join us?” Fritz asked Holmes.

“I sure would,” Holmes replied.

Fritz, Holmes, Secret Service Agent Forrest Sorrels, and Dallas Police Detective L.D. Montgomery, waited for the prisoner to be brought down from his jail cell. Chief Curry, who had informed the press that Oswald was going to be transferred around 10:00 a.m., also joined the group. In short order, Detectives Leavelle, Dhority, and Graves brought the prisoner into Captain Fritz’s office. Secret Service Inspector Thomas Kelley arrived a bit late for this final interrogation session.

Oswald eyed the small group, and immediately noticed that Holmes was a new face, “Are there any FBI men in here?”

“No. No FBI men,” Captain Fritz replied.

“Well, who is that man?” Oswald asked, pointing at Harry Holmes.

“He’s a postal inspector, and he has a few questions for you,” Fritz answered.

“Okay,” Oswald responded, reserving his more blatant hostility for any FBI agent that might enter the room.

Before asking any questions, Captain Fritz handed Oswald a telegram from an East Coast attorney, who had offered pro bono defense services for Oswald.

“Maybe you should call him,” Fritz suggested.

“I’ll call him later, if I can’t reach Mr. Abt,” Oswald answered, extending his role as the defenseless suspect for a while longer.

Fritz once again showed the suspect the picture of himself, dressed in black, holding the Mannlicher Carcano rifle and wearing his pistol.

“Lee, why don’t you tell us when this picture was made?” Fritz asked.

Oswald stared straight at the photograph, but remained silent.

“You know, you’ll save us a lot of time if you’ll just tell us. We’ll find the location, sooner or later,” Fritz calmly said .

“I don’t have anything to say about it,” Oswald defiantly answered.

Captain Fritz noted Oswald’s discomfort, and tried to catch the prisoner off guard, “Did you shoot the President?”

“No,” Oswald quickly replied.

“What about the shooting of Officer Tippit?” Fritz asked.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re asking me these questions. The only reason I’m here is because I popped a policeman in the nose at the theater on Jefferson Avenue. Okay, I admit it. But the reason I hit him was because I was protecting myself. As far as the rest of it, I emphatically deny having anything to do with shooting an officer or killing the President,” Oswald responded.

The witnesses to the shooting of Officer Tippit said they saw a man in a white shirt and it was a man in a white shirt who shot Tippit. Oswald was arrested wearing a brown shirt. Prior to being to put in a line up so that witnesses could identify the shooter of Officer Tippit, Oswald was stripped down and put in a white shirt. The image above is from television news coverage which clearly shows Oswald protesting this “rigged” procedure before he is put in the police line up.

Chief Curry quietly left the room to check on the status of Oswald’s transfer. At this point, Postal Inspector Holmes was invited to join in the questioning by Captain Fritz.

“Did you have a post office box here in Dallas?” Holmes asked.

“Yeah,” Oswald nonchalantly replied.

“What number?” Holmes asked.

“Box 2915. I rented it at the main post office a few months before moving to New Orleans,” Oswald calmly answered.

“Did you rent it in your own name?” Holmes asked, aware that Oswald had a history of employing aliases.

“Yes,” Oswald replied.

“How many keys did you have?” Holmes asked.

Two,” Oswald answered, “When they closed the box, I had them forward my mail to my address in New Orleans.”

“Did anyone else receive mail in the box, other than yourself?” Holmes inquired.

“No,” Oswald lied.

“Did anyone have access to the box other than yourself?”

“No.”

“Did you permit anyone else to use the box?” Holmes asked, fully aware that the Mannlicher Carcano rifle had been delivered to A. J. Hidell at that same post office box.

“Well, it’s possible that I may have given my wife one of the keys to go get my mail. But, that was rare. Certainly, no one else used it,” Oswald answered.

“Did you ever receive a package in that box?” Holmes inquired.

“What kind of package?” Oswald asked, feigning curiosity at the nature of the question.

“Did you ever have a rifle shipped there?” Holmes asked, in a more pointed fashion.

“No, I did not order any rifle!” Oswald emphatically replied.

“Ever order a rifle under another name?” Holmes quickly asked.

Oswald regained his composure, “No. In fact, I’ve never owned a rifle. I haven’t practiced or shot a rifle since I was in the Marine Corps.”

Captain Fritz could not let this blatant lie go unchallenged, “You’ve never shot a rifle since your discharge?”

Oswald continued the charade, “No. Well, maybe a small-bore .22 or something.”

“You don’t own a rifle?” Fritz asked, once again.

“Absolutely not!” Oswald answered, annoyed that the same question was being asked repeatedly, “How can I afford a rifle on my salary? I make $1.25 per hour. I can hardly feed myself on what I make.”

Inspector Holmes stared at the documents in his hands. When Oswald had made an application for a post office box in New Orleans earlier in the year, he had listed Marina Oswald and A. J. Hidell as additional persons who could receive mail at this address. Holmes asked Oswald about the name Hidell.

“I don’t recall anything about that,” Oswald tersely replied.

Secret Service Inspector, Thomas Kelley, joined in the questioning, “Well, isn’t it a fact that when you were arrested you had an identification card with the name Hidell on it, in your possession?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Oswald calmly answered.

“How do you explain that?” Kelley asked.

“I don’t explain it,” Oswald replied, in a defiant tone.

Holmes resumed his line of questioning, “Did you receive mail through Box 2915 under any name other than Lee Oswald?”

“Absolutely not,” Oswald lied.

“What about a package to an A. J. Hidell?” Holmes asked.

“No!” Oswald replied angrily.

“Did you order a gun under that name to come there?” Holmes inquired .

“No. Absolutely not,” Oswald answered.

Holmes tried to rephrase the question, “If one had come under that name, could this fellow Hidell have gotten it?”

“Nobody got mail out of that box but me,” Oswald answered.

The Postal Inspector knew that he was not going to get more out of the suspect. In fact, Holmes doubted that Oswald would ever confess his guilt.

Jack Ruby was still not dressed for the day, and continued to watch television coverage of the assassination aftermath. At 10:19 a.m., Karen Carlin phoned Ruby to remind him that he had promised her a more substantial salary advance. Jack assured her that he would send the additional money, “I have to go downtown, anyway, so, I’ll send it to you by Western Union.”

Ruby shaved, showered, and dressed in his typical methodical fashion. As far as he knew, the scheduled 10:00 a.m. transfer of Oswald from the city to the county jail had already occurred.

The addition of Postal Inspector Holmes to the interrogation team caused the questioning of Oswald to run well past 10:00 a.m. Chief Curry nervously pressed Captain Fritz to complete the interview, but the homicide investigator had no intention of tailoring his schedule to suit the waiting news reporters.

The interrogation continued, and shifted toward Oswald’s involvement in protest activities, particularly during his stay in New Orleans.

“Is that why you came to Dallas, to organize the Fair Play for Cuba Committee in Dallas?” Holmes asked.

“No, not at all,” Oswald answered.

“Did you work on it or intend to organize here in Dallas?” Holmes inquired.

Oswald smirked, “No, I didn’t. I was too busy trying to get a job.”

Secret Service Inspector Kelley joined in, “Do you think the attitude of the United States government toward Cuba will change since the President has been assassinated?”

Oswald turned to Captain Fritz, “I’m filed on for the President’s murder, right? ”

Fritz nodded yes.

“Under the circumstances, I don’t believe I will answer the question, because whatever I say might be misconstrued,” Oswald replied, but unable to resist the urge to pontificate, he continued, “When the head of any government dies, there is always a second in command who takes over. And, in this particular case, it will be Johnson. So far as I know, Johnson’s views and President Kennedy’s views are the same, so I don’t think the attitude of the U.S. Government will change toward Cuba.”

“Are you a Communist?” Captain Fritz asked.

“No, I am not a Communist. I am a Marxist, but not a Marxist-Leninist,” Oswald answered.

“What’s the difference?” Fritz replied.

“It would take too long to explain,” Oswald annoyingly replied.

“Try me,” Fritz answered, with a slight smile.

“Well, a Communist is a Leninist-Marxist, while I am a true Karl Marxist. I’ve read just about everything by or about Karl Marx,” Oswald smugly answered.

“Do you read a lot of Communist publications?” Fritz asked.

“I’m an avid reader of Russian literature, whether it’s Communist or not,” Oswald bragged.

As Oswald’s interrogation progressed, two armored trucks arrived at the Commerce Street ramp. The larger truck was deemed to be more appropriate for the transfer, as it would allow two police detectives to ride in the rear of the vehicle, along with the prisoner. By now, the basement of police headquarters had been searched and no one was supposed to enter without proper identification. The eager reporters and cameramen stood near the jail office entrance, eagerly awaiting the appearance of the accused presidential assassin.

Upstairs in Captain Fritz’s office, Service Inspector Thomas Kelley shifted the conversation to Oswald’s belief system, “What do you think about religion?”

“Karl Marx is my religion,” Oswald answered, in a flat tone.

“What I mean, what faith are you?” Kelley inquired.

“I have no faith. I suppose you mean the Bible?” Oswald answered.

“Yes, that’s right,” Kelley replied.

“Well, I’ve read the Bible. Some people find it interesting reading, but not me. As a matter of fact, I’m a student of philosophy, and I don’t consider the Bible to be even a reasonable or intelligent philosophy,” Oswald lectured.

“You don’t think much of it?” Kelley asked.

“You could say that,” Oswald answered.

“Do you believe in a deity?” Kelley continued

“I don’t care to discuss that with you,” Oswald tersely answered, ending that line of questioning.

Captain Fritz continued to skillfully mix his questions, hoping to catch the suspect off balance, “I understand you were dishonorably discharged from the Marine Corps.”

For a moment, Oswald was caught unaware, and then grew angry, “I was discharged honorably. They later changed it because I attempted to renounce my American citizenship while living in Russia.”

The armored truck attempted to back down the Commerce Street ramp into the basement to be closer to the door where Oswald would exit the building. Since there was not enough ceiling clearance for the vehicle to make it all the way down, and the driver did not want to park on a steep incline, fearing it might stall, the armored truck remained at the top of the ramp, adjacent to the curb, with only one to two feet of clearance on either side.

When the police officers opened the rear door of the vehicle, an empty soda bottle rolled out and shattered on the ramp’s concrete floor. The noise echoed throughout the cavernous basement, startling the crowd of policemen and newsmen, and foreshadowing the events to come.

Chief Curry repeatedly checked with the homicide office to see if Oswald was ready to be taken to the county jail, but Captain Fritz and his fellow interrogators were progressing at a leisurely pace.

“Lee, why did you go to Irving to visit your wife on Thursday night, instead of Friday, like you normally did?” Fritz asked .

“I learned that my wife and Mrs. Paine were giving a party for the kids, and they were going to have a house full of neighborhood kids there. I just didn’t want to be around then. So, I went out Thursday night,” Oswald lied, knowing the birthday party had been held the weekend before, when he had remained in his Dallas boarding house.

“Did you bring a sack with you the next morning?” Fritz inquired.

“I did,” Oswald answered “What was in the sack?” Fritz asked.

“My lunch,” Oswald calmly replied.

“How big of a sack was it? What was its shape?” Fritz asked.

“Oh, I don’t recall. It may have been a small sack or a large sack. I don’t know. You don’t always find one that fits your sandwiches, just right,” Oswald answered, matter-of-factly.

“Where did you put the sack when you got into Wesley’s car?” Fritz inquired.

“In my lap, or possibly on the front seat next to me. That’s where I always put it, because I don’t want it to get crushed,” Oswald answered, with feigned sincerity.

“You didn’t put it in the backseat?” Fritz asked in a contrived, yet puzzled tone.

“I didn’t put any package in the backseat,” Oswald defiantly answered.

“Wesley Frazier says that you brought a long parcel over to his house and put it in the backseat of his car. Do you deny that?” Fritz asked.

“Oh, he must be mistaken, or else thinking about some other time when he picked me up,” Oswald casually replied.

“Did you tell him you had curtain rods?” Fritz persisted.

“Absolutely not!” Oswald answered, his voice rising again, “I never said such a thing.”

In the end, Oswald was able to lie effortlessly. At the same time, he seemed to greatly resent being called a liar.

Captain Fritz quickly shifted to another area of inquiry, asking the suspect his exact whereabouts when President Kennedy was shot. In an earlier interrogation session, Oswald had said he was in the depository lunchroom when the shots were fired. Unaware of his inconsistency, Oswald now told Fritz he was upstairs at the time of the actual shooting and went downstairs to investigate the commotion. When he stopped to purchase a soft drink, Lee recalled encountering a policeman, as well as his supervisor, Mr. Truly. It appeared that Fritz’s interrogation methods were finally beginning to work, as the prisoner had started contradicting himself.

Chief Curry returned to the outer office and continued pacing, impatient to transfer Oswald. Eventually, Curry cracked open the door leading into Fritz’s office. The homicide chief, who had never before allowed himself to be intimidated by a Chief of Police, continued his interrogation.

“We’ll be through in a few minutes,” Fritz said, without looking up.

Curry withdrew, but his facial expression betrayed his displeasure. It was after 11:00 a.m., and the impatient crowd of reporters and cameramen had been assembled in the basement for over an hour, awaiting the transfer of Oswald.

Secret Service Agent Forrest Sorrels took the opportunity to briefly question Oswald, “Now, you say that you have not used the name A. Hidell, but you show the name on this change-of-address card as a person entitled to receive mail at this address. If you don’t know anyone by the name Hidell, why would you have that name on this card?”

Oswald was defiant, “I never used the name Hidell.”

“Lee, you do not know anyone by the name of A. J. Hidell?” Captain Fritz asked.

“No,” Oswald replied.

“Have you ever used that name as an alias?” Fritz inquired.

“No! I never used the name and I don’t know anyone by that name,” Oswald said, his tone growing louder.

“What about the draft registration card we got out of your wallet showing the name A. J. Hidell?”

Oswald was clearly agitated, “I’ve told you all I’m going to about that card! You took notes! Just read them for yourself, if you want to refresh your memory. You know as much about it as I do!”

Captain Fritz realized that he was going to get very little else out of Oswald today, and decided to bring this interrogation session to a close. He planned to question the prisoner further after he was transferred to the county jail.

As the group began to disperse, Secret Service Inspector Thomas Kelley told Oswald that he would meet with him at a later date to get all the facts straight about the assassination of President Kennedy. Oswald indicated that he would consider his request after seeking the advice of an attorney.

At 11:00 a.m., Jack Ruby, cradling his favorite little dog, Sheba, in his arms, headed out his apartment door. He informed George Senator that he was going to the Western Union office to wire money to Karen Carlin, and then drop Sheba off at the Carousel Club, where his other dogs were housed. Before leaving the apartment, Ruby slipped his revolver into his suit coat pocket.

It took about fifteen minutes for Ruby to drive from his Oak Cliff apartment to downtown Dallas. Along the way, he once again passed the memorial wreaths in Dealey Plaza, which likely intensified his emotional turmoil. He also noted a crowd gathering on Houston Street, just outside the county jail, awaiting the overdue transfer of Lee Harvey Oswald; another grim reminder of that total loser, who killed our President. As he made his way up Main Street, Ruby saw yet another crowd gathered on the curb outside City Hall. Reaching the Western Union office, Jack made an illegal left turn off Main into a parking lot just across the street from his destination. Had he continued up the street, circled the block, and come back to park, it would have taken him several additional minutes to conduct his business at Western Union.

Ruby locked the trunk of his Oldsmobile, which contained over $800.00 in cash, packed inside grocery bags. Illogically, he placed the trunk key and his wallet in the glove compartment, but left the vehicle’s doors unlocked. Of particular note, he left his beloved dog, Sheba, in the car, suggesting that he did not expect to be gone for long. Inside the pockets of his suit coat and matching trousers, Jack haphazardly stuffed nearly $2,000.00 dollars in cash.

As he crossed Main Street and approached the Western Union building, Jack Ruby was carrying most of his life savings and packing heat.

The armored truck was in place at the top of the Commerce Street ramp. The police officers in the basement had formed a human chain to create a passageway for the prisoner between the doorway and the transfer vehicle. The seventy policemen were joined by nearly thirty reporters and cameramen, creating a crowded, noisy, and tense environment.

On the third floor, Chief Curry approached Captain Fritz, “Are you ready for the transfer?”

“When the security downstairs is ready, we are ready,” Fritz replied.

Curry outlined the transfer plans, including the use of the armored truck. Fritz frowned, “Chief, I don’t think it’s a good thing to try and move him in that money truck. I don’t think it’s a good idea, at all. For one thing, we don’t know the driver or anything about that wagon, and if someone tries to take our prisoner, we should be in a position to be able to cut out of the caravan or to take off, or do whatever is necessary to protect him. The heavy money wagon will be too awkward in that kind of situation. I would prefer to transfer him in an unmarked car.”

Curry saw the wisdom in Fritz’s logic, “Well, okay. But, we’ll still use the armored car as a decoy, and let it go right on down Elm, just as we planned, and if anyone tries to take the prisoner away from us, they’ll find themselves attacking an empty armored car.”

Fritz nodded in agreement, “I’ll transport him in one car, with myself and two detectives. And, we’ll have another carload of detectives as a backup. We can cut out of the caravan at Main Street.”

Curry, who remained anxious about the transfer, felt the decoy vehicle added another degree of security to the operation. While curiosity seekers were focused on the armored truck, the unmarked car would have already reached the protective confines of the county jail.

Captain Fritz, however, was concerned about what sort of crowd might greet them in the basement, “You know, Chief, we ought to get rid of the television lights and cameramen, so they don’t interfere with our getting to the car.”

“The lights have already been moved back, and the media have been moved back in the basement, back of the rail, and the spectators have been moved across the street. You won’t have any trouble,” Curry reassured him.

Lee Harvey Oswald had been wearing the same ragged tee shirt throughout the weekend. A stack of his confiscated clothes was brought to him, and he picked a black pull-over sweater to wear over his undershirt. The prisoner’s hands remained manacled in front of him, and Detective James Leavelle used a second pair of handcuffs to secure his own left wrist to Oswald’s right one.

Captain Fritz addressed the prisoner before they departed his office, “Lee, I want you to follow Detective Leavelle when we get downstairs and stay close to him.”

Leavelle injected some levity into the process, “Lee, if anybody shoots at you, I hope they’re as good a shot as you are.”

“Aw, there ain’t going to be anybody shooting at me,” Oswald chuckled, “You’re just being melodramatic.”

“Well, if there’s any trouble, you know what to do—hit the floor,” Leavelle told him.

“Captain Fritz told me to follow you. I’ll do whatever you do,” Oswald replied.

“In that case, you’ll be on the floor,” Leavelle said .

Before the group left the third floor to travel to the basement, Secret Service Agent Forrest Sorrells approached Captain Fritz, “If I were you, I would not move Oswald to the county jail at an announced time like this. I would take him out at three or four in the morning, when there’s no one around.”

Captain Fritz nodded in agreement, but was resigned to the situation at hand, “Chief Curry wants to go along with the press and not try to put anything over on them.”

Fritz then spoke to Lt. T. L. Baker, “Call down and tell them we are on the way.”

The group, led by Captain Fritz, made its way out of the Homicide and Robbery offices and headed to the elevator. Most of the reporters were in the basement by now, but a few remained on the third floor, shouting random questions at Oswald. Captain Fritz, Lt. Swain, and Detective’s Levealle, Graves, and Montgomery escorted the prisoner onto the elevator.

Jack Ruby exited the Western Union office, less than a block away from the City Hall, pocketing a receipt for $26.87, which represented the total cost of the money order that he had just wired to Karen Carlin. The order was stamped at 11:17 a.m., documenting the exact time of Ruby’s transaction—the Western Union clock was synchronized on a daily basis with the U.S. Naval Observatory in Washington D.C. The crowd mingling outside police headquarters drew Ruby’s attention, and he decided to investigate, turning left and walking briskly down the sidewalk.

Officer Roy Vaughn had drawn the assignment of guarding the Main Street entrance to the City Hall basement. While closely monitoring the crowd, he heard the sound of a car engine approaching from his rear. Surprised, Vaughn stepped to one side to allow the police car to come up what was normally the one-way entrance ramp. Lt. Rio Sam Pierce was driving the patrol car, which was forced to exit the basement in the wrong direction because the armored truck was blocking the Commerce Street exit. Pierce had been ordered to drive his car around the block to lead the armored truck out of the basement—both of those vehicles would function as decoys, while the third car would actually transport Oswald to the county jail.

Vaughn turned his back to the sidewalk for a moment to help Lt. Pierce make a left turn across traffic onto Main Street. At this point, Jack Ruby simply walked down the ramp, unseen by Officer Vaughn. A veteran gatecrasher, Ruby always acted like he knew where he was going, and purposefully strode into the basement. With a dark suit and matching fedora, Ruby’s appearance was not unlike a plain-clothes detective, which made it easier for him to merge with the crowd at the base of the ramp.

Had Oswald been transferred at the scheduled time or had it taken Ruby a minute or two longer to place the money order at the Western Union office, the two men would not have rendezvoused in the City Hall basement. In less than a minute, police detectives would escort the prisoner out the door, just a few feet from where the agitated, impulsive nightclub manager was standing.

Jack Ruby’s motive was well established and the opportunity was now at hand.

Lee Harvey Oswald rode silently down the elevator with his escorts. He had no way of knowing what the crowd would be like in the basement but had grown accustomed to aggressive reporters, flash photographers, and television cameras. His name and face were becoming nearly as popular as the President he had assassinated.

Dressed in all black, Oswald was a vivid contrast to the man on his right. Detective Leavelle, who was linked to the prisoner by a pair of handcuffs, wore a cream-colored western suit, suede boots, and a white Stetson. To Oswald’s left, Detective L.C. Graves, dressed in a dark suit and hat, had a firm grip on the prisoner’s other arm.

When the elevator came to a halt on the basement floor, Captain Fritz stepped out into the hall, adjacent to the jail office, and turned to Lt. Swain, “I want you to lead the way.” Led by Swain and Fritz, the group headed toward the garage.

The reporters in the basement had ignored the order to remain behind the parking lot railing and were crowding closer and closer to the door, much to the chagrin of the police officers that were gathered alongside them. Detective Dority, who was driving the unmarked car that would carry Oswald to the county jail, was having difficulty backing it into position, for fear of running over the reporters.

“Get back, get back!” a police officer yelled to the newsmen.

Jack Ruby slipped his hand inside his coat pocket—the Colt Cobra .38 revolver was fully loaded.

“Here they come!” a reporter shouted.

Swain and Fritz emerged from the swinging door and headed toward the unmarked police car that was still trying to back into place. Oswald, flanked by Detectives Leavelle and Graves, came out next, with Detective L.D. Montgomery trailing them. In an instant, the television lights illuminated brightly, obscuring the vision of the prisoner and his protectors.

WNEW radio reporter Ike Pappas had raced down the stairwell from the third floor, after he saw Oswald and his escort exit Captain Fritz’s office. Pappas burst out the basement door and stationed himself adjacent to the spot where Oswald would walk out of the building.

“Now, the prisoner, wearing a black sweater, is being moved out toward an armored car. He is being led out by Captain Fritz,” Pappas spoke into his microphone.

The blinding lights were making it difficult for Fritz, Leavelle, and Graves to locate the unmarked transfer car, which had not been able to back into the proper location, due to the crush of the crowd. Detective Dhority honked the horn to signal his location.

Pappas, close enough to brush elbows with Detective Graves, posed a question to Oswald, “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

The prisoner was momentarily stunned by the television lights, but had to know that his picture was being displayed to television viewers all over the world. Just then, Oswald saw an approaching blur.

Jerking the pistol from his pocket and lunging forward, Jack Ruby fired a single shot, at point-blank range, into Oswald’s left upper abdomen.

“Oh!” Oswald groaned loudly, wincing in pain, and then doubling over .

NBC News reporter Tom Petit was broadcasting the transfer, as millions of Americans watched on live television, “He’s been shot! Lee Oswald’s been shot!”

Ike Pappas, who was still carrying a Carousel Club pass in his pocket, was close enough to see the flash of the pistol shot against the prisoner’s black sweater, “There’s been a shot. Lee Oswald has been shot!”

Dallas Morning News photographer, Jack Beers, squeezed his camera shutter right before the shot sounded. The photograph revealed a man in a dark suit lunging towards Oswald, pistol in hand.

Robert Jackson, a photographer for the Dallas Times Herald , snapped his own picture a fraction of a second after Beers. Jackson’s photograph, which would ultimately earn him a Pulitzer Prize, showed Oswald grimacing in pain as Ruby pulled the trigger.

Detectives Leavelle and Graves saw the same dark blur as their prisoner, but did not have time to react before the shot echoed off the basement walls. Oswald continued to moan, before sinking to the floor. Operating on reflex, Leavelle pushed against the gunman’s shoulder, while Graves reached for the pistol.

“Turn it loose! Turn it loose!” Graves yelled, as he felt the gunman trying to pull the trigger again.

A mass of uniformed and plain clothes cops pinned the shooter on the concrete floor. Detective Graves finally wrestled the revolver from gunman’s hand, before he could squeeze off another round.

“I hope I killed the son of a bitch!” Ruby shouted from underneath the pile.

There’s absolute panic here in the basement of the Dallas police headquarters,” NBC News reporter Tom Petit shouted into his microphone.

“Get a doctor!” a police officer bellowed.

Police detectives carried the gravely wounded Oswald back into the basement level jail office. The prisoner had suffered a point blank gunshot wound to his left upper abdomen. Still conscious, Oswald continued to moan, but did not speak.

Oswald’s handcuffs were removed and an ambulance was summoned to the police station. Lying on his back, the prisoner stared at the ceiling as his level of awareness slowly waned.

“Do you have anything you want to tell us now?” Detective Billy Combest asked.

Oswald shook his head no, but raised his fist in a clenched fist salute—a symbolic gesture for a wounded revolutionary.

It only took four minutes for the ambulance to enter the same Main Street ramp used by Jack Ruby a few minutes earlier. By then, Oswald had lapsed into unconsciousness. Frederick Biebendorf, a twenty-five year-old medical student, who was on call to provide routine medical care to inmates at the city jail, attended to the wounded prisoner. Unable to locate a pulse, Biebendorf initiated closed cardiac massage on the unconscious prisoner. When the ambulance arrived, Oswald was loaded onto a stretcher .

Ike Pappas watched as the stretcher was loaded onto the ambulance, “Here is young Oswald, now. He is lying flat. To me, he appears dead. There is a gunshot wound in his lower abdomen. He is white.”

The ambulance had to wait for the armored truck to be moved out of the Commerce Street exit ramp, before racing to Parkland Hospital, lights flashing and siren wailing. Biebendorf, along with Detectives Leavelle and Graves, were wedged into the rear of the ambulance, next to the stretcher. Oswald never regained consciousness during the frantic race to the hospital.

When the ambulance arrived at Parkland, Oswald was rushed into Trauma Room Two; the hospital staff purposefully avoided placing the presidential assassin in the same room where President Kennedy had died. Doctors Malcolm Perry and Ronald Jones, who had participated in the emergency treatment of the President, just two days ago, were summoned to the emergency room.

Oswald was ashen, with no blood pressure, a faint heart beat, and labored respiration. Anesthesiologist, Dr. Marion Jenkins, inserted an endotracheal tube to improve oxygenation, and the patient was rushed upstairs to surgery.

The spent bullet was located just under the skin, adjacent to a rib, on the opposite side from the entrance wound. One of the surgeons removed the slug and handed it to Detective Leavelle, who immediately realized that had Oswald’s rib not stopped the bullet, he would have also been wounded.

Dr. Tom Shires, Parkland Hospital’s Chief of Surgery, joined the group of physicians in the operating room and assumed the role of lead surgeon. Oswald’s abdomen was sliced open, where more than three quarts of blood were found to have leaked from damaged blood vessels and perforated internal organs. Both the aorta and vena cava had been lacerated by the bullet, which also severely damaged the right kidney, liver, spleen, pancreas, and stomach. As blood and intravenous fluids were rapidly infused to maintain circulation and oxygenation, the surgeons worked feverishly for nearly an hour, trying to save Oswald’s life.

Dr. Shires and his colleagues were able to finally control the bleeding, and it appeared that Oswald might actually survive, when his pulse and blood pressure suddenly plummeted, followed by full-blown cardiac arrest. Dr. Perry alertly opened Oswald’s chest cage and administered open heart massage. Calcium chloride and epinephrine were directly injected into the heart muscle, and a cardiac defibrillator was employed to try shock the failing organ into normal rhythm. As a last desperate measure, Dr. Perry sewed a pacemaker onto the right ventricle of the heart, but no life-sustaining heart beat could be established.

Lee Harvey Oswald was pronounced dead at 1:07 p.m.—forty-eight hours and seven minutes after the death of President Kennedy.

Robert Oswald rushed to Parkland Hospital after Secret Service agents informed him that his brother had been shot. Before leaving for the hospital, Robert asked the agents to withhold the shocking news from Marina and Marguerite. Shortly after being escorted into a private hospital visitation room, Robert was informed of Lee’s death. The sobbing older brother asked if he could view Lee’s body, but was told he must wait. Meanwhile, the hospital chaplain was summoned to pray with him; in the ensuing chaos, Robert was never taken to see his younger brother’s body.

Secret Service Inspector Thomas Kelley entered the tiny room where Robert Oswald sat crying. Still angry and grieving over the assassination of President Kennedy, Kelley was less than sympathetic, “Well, what do you expect? Violence breeds violence.”

“Inspector, does that justify anything?” Robert moaned.

When the Secret Service learned that the accused presidential assassin had been shot, they decided to move the rest of the Oswald family to the farm where Robert Oswald’s in-laws lived—a remote location, deemed much safer than a Dallas area hotel. Before the transfer could be completed, Marguerite and Marina learned of Lee’s death from the agents guarding them.

“Marina, our boy is gone,” Marguerite said.

Both women wept, and Marguerite demanded that the Secret Service agents take her to Parkland Hospital.

“I want to see Lee,” Marguerite announced.

“Me, too. Me want to see Lee,” Marina said in broken English.

The Secret Servicemen did not want to take them to the hospital, fearing for their safety, especially after Oswald’s murder. Stubborn and aggressive, Marguerite convinced the reluctant agents to drive them to Parkland Hospital.

The three major television networks were broadcasting live from the Capitol rotunda, as President Kennedy’s family gathered around his flag draped casket. A news flash interrupted the solemnity of the occasion: LEE HARVEY OSWALD IS DEAD.

At Parkland Hospital, Marguerite and Marina were introduced to Dr. Earl Rose, the Dallas County Medical Examiner. Just two days ago, Rose had unsuccessfully attempted to block the transfer of President Kennedy’s body from Dallas until after an autopsy was completed. Rose was unwilling to risk the same mistake twice, and explained to Oswald’s wife and mother that Texas law required a postmortem examination of murder victims.

“I understand that you wish to see the body. Now, I will do whatever you ladies wish. However, I will say this. It will not be pleasant. All the blood has been drained from him and it would be much better if you would see him after he is fixed up,” Dr. Rose warned them.

Marguerite was quick to reply, “I am a nurse. I have seen death before. I want to see my son, now.”

“I want to see Lee, too,” Marina added.

Rose led the two women to the X-ray department, where Lee’s body lay naked under a sheet, with only his face exposed. A handful of Dallas police officers stood in the corner of the room, keeping a close watch over the corpse.

Marguerite eyed her son’s body, but did not touch it. She did, however, make a point to chastise the policemen in the room, “I think someday, you’ll hang your heads in shame. I happen to know some facts, that maybe my son is the unsung hero of this episode. And, I, as his mother, intend to prove this if I can.”

Before leaving Parkland, Marguerite would tell Robert and the hospital chaplain that Lee should be buried as a hero in Arlington National Cemetery .

Marina Oswald kissed her husband’s cold body, and then pulled open his eyelids.

Staring into Lee’s lifeless pupils, Marina said to no one in particular, “He cry. He eye wet.”