Lee Harvey Oswald

1960s: The Decade of Assassinations


If America finally died at Kent State, it had been slowly tortured and already beaten in the decade before it finally went down. The 1960s could easily be referred to the decade when the National sport of political assassinations replaced the National pastime of baseball.

Despite the fact of numerous investigations into the assassination of the Kennedy brothers, Martin Luther King and Marilyn Monroe, there will always be doubt as to their elusory links and to who was the responsible party. Official investigative panels must think the American public is naively stupid to believe that in each murder, the gunman was a lone, crazed malcontent who acted out of single-minded hatred; or that Monroe’s association with the Kennedy men was innocent celebrity cameo.

In their careers, the Kennedy brothers had made enough enemies, burned enough bridges, or double-crossed enough powerful men to have been killed six times over. They were also trio of egalitarian, womanizing, arrogant and condescending hypocrites who suffered the deadly sin of Hubris.

Unfortunately for them they may have been innocent in a naïve way because they learned it at home from their crooked bootlegging father, Joe. Once in power two of these brothers were also determined to erase the history of their father’s close ties to organized crime and to create a future legacy of white washed lily pure family history.

I had a patient who was a CIA operative and who was one of the last agents to leave Havana when Castro came into power. He was also on the beach at the Bay of Pigs when John Kennedy failed to bring in the previously promised and desperately necessary ground fire and air support to aid the landing parties. In relating the fact of this betrayal, he told me how frustrating it had been to see the U.S. aircraft carriers and gun-ships sitting off on the horizon as the Cuba Libre troops were mowed down on the beach.

He also stated that there was a highly-placed mole in some U.S. governmental organization that had alerted Castro to the time and place of the assault.To make matters worse, JFK blamed the fiasco entirely on the agency itself and then tried to dismantle it after the fact. This man then subsequently hated John Kennedy with a passion.

Failing an invasion, there is documented evidence that the President’s office may have recruited the CIA to kill Castro in an eventually failed assassination attempt. They wanted him to smoke a poisoned cigar. my patient stated that the idea was patently stupid.

Kennedy was also hated by the mob boss of South Florida, Sam Traffacante, who wanted to get back his confiscated Havana casinos and nightclubs.

Lyndon Johnson had no love either. He was a politically ambitious conniving snake, whose world was caving in because of the Bobby Baker and Billy Sol Estes scandals; and feared being dropped from the 1964 Presidential ticket. His sole ambition in life was to become the U.S. President; so being a heart-beat away would make him a close second; as well as exempt from scrutiny of his own scandalous financial dealings; including the diversion of military contracts to Texas.

Then lurking far in the distant past was the fact that Bobby Kennedy in his early pre-Attorney General career had sidelined an attempt by Aristotle Onasis to gain U.S. seaport access for his oil tankers.

The Kennedy’s connections to organized crime are well outlined in the book “Double Cross” written by the mafia boss Sam Giancana’s nephew. Old father Joe had been a great asset to the criminal world during prohibition because he supplied their stills with vitally needed sugar. He was also able to freely import Scotch under the diplomatic immunity conferred on him by being Ambassador to England for which services he was owed a favor.

Apparently, the favor was called in and delivered when the Presidential election was handed to the Kennedys on a mob promise to father Joe; having been effected by the ever so ethical mayor of Chicago, John Daly, stuffing the ballot boxes in Cook County, Illinois. This was why it was so poetically and justly pathetic to see John Daly Junior adamantly plea the case of election fraud in Florida when George Bush II was elected over Albert Gore.

Payback can often take a long time, but it is always still a real bitch.

Part of the original deal between the mob and the Kennedy boys was that Frank Sinatra would be the mob’s ambassador as well as its liaison to the White House and that certain special favors would periodically be required of the Kennedy Administration for the big assist at the voting booths. Keep in mind that Nixon had won the popular vote in Illinois and that Cook County only reported the next day when the number of necessary electoral votes to win became known.

However, once in power the Kennedys decided to expunge their father’s past. They not only reneged on the deal but then decided to turn around and break the spine of organized crime in America; thus, hoping to bury their sordid past connections forever. They believed their power placed them above the law of the common man and that the sins of their father should no longer be visited upon them.

Among other things, Bobby Kennedy had the mob boss of New Orleans, Carlos Marcello plucked off the street and unofficially ‘deported’ by dropping him into a jungle in South America. After he miraculously made it safely back o civilization, Marcello angrily castigated Bobby for his cowardice and corruptly brazen use of his office to avoid the customary legal channels of deportation.He was also royally pissed off that his family had no clue as to what had happened to him because if he had at least been plopped down in Sicily instead of in Honduras, this would have been an acceptable and more honorable chess move.

The Kennedys then quietly began to snub Sinatra by making it clear directly that his presence was no longer required at the White House. Bobby then went one step further in bringing mob bosses in front of Congress when he launched his campaign to finally eliminate organized crime in America.

He jeeringly and repeatedly derided Sam Giancana in a nationally televised public display where he stated that Mr. Giancana (Gin-cahna, in Boston brogue) was “giggling like a little girl.”

  • Are you giggling Mr. Gin-cahna. Are you giggling? Is that you giggling? I thought only little girls giggled, Mr. Gin-cahna.

Even as the U.S. Attorney General, discretion would have suggested this to be an insane allegorical accusation.

Add to all this the fact that J. Edgar Hoover, who liked to play the horses, especially the trotters, would regularly meet Sam Giancana on a park bench in Washington D.C. to get his periodic list of sure winners. Some historians believe that not only did John Kennedy want to emasculate the CIA, but he also felt J. Edgar Hoover’s tenure and power was too much for one individual to hold. Hoover also despised having to cow tow to Robert Kennedy as Attorney general.

Richard Nixon felt the same way about Hoover when he became President but recanted his call for Hoover to step aside after Hoover showed Nixon his own FBI file.

Finally, does it not seem strange that Marilyn Monroe, who had three-way sex with Giancana and Sinatra at Lake Tahoe, at some other ill-defined point in the process, then became a paramour to both Kennedy brothers? After Sinatra’s snub the mob simply sent in their moll to get whatever information they felt they needed. Happy Birthday, Mr. President!

Sam Giancana’s nephew sates that the mob planned J.F.K.’s assassination. Giancana wanted to eliminate Bobby instead, but Marcello said that:

  • When the dog bites you, you don’t cut off the tail. You cut off the head because the head has the teeth. Otherwise the dog can come back and bite you again.

He also had a sign outside his office that stated: “Two people can keep a secret only if one is dead.”

Who knows if the CIA or the FBI or the Free Cubans or any rouge element of the same were also involved. Strong evidence supports the premises that one or all were co-conspirators because the stakes were too high and the cover up was too slick. Then once J.F.K. was gone and Bobby resurfaced to run for President, there was little choice but to finish off the job because if not, then the players would have to face a brand-new snarling, dangerously angry, more viciously powerful, and vengeful dog to boot.

That is, unless you happen to believe that Aristotle Onassis, as he admitted to his mistress Maria Callas, paid radical elements of the Arab terrorist world to kill his old nemesis, Bobby, after which he then took the ultimate trophy bride, Bobby’s now sufficiently post bereavement sister in law, Jackie, whom Bobby was already tired of screwing anyway.

Martin Luther King was in a different bind. He was on the wrong side of the FBI, an organization who believed that he was a communist and felt that a grass roots street revolution could not be tolerated. The Watts riot of 1965 would have paled in comparison with what they feared might happen if King could continue his crusade. Blackmailing King by releasing tapes of him banging his girlfriend in a motel room would not have been enough to derail his accelerating popularity.

Marilyn Monroe also had to go because she either knew too much or her role as a spy became too compromising. Who killed her is anyone’s guess. She had played with everyone’s matches before she finally got burned; or rather had her passionate flames  doused by a barbiturate enema.

But for the Kennedys, no matter how you slice it, when your list of enemies includes the FBI, the CIA, Fidel Castro, Richard Nixon, LBJ,  Free Cuban expatriates, and three of the most powerful mob bosses in America it would be very difficult to find a friend, much less even a loyal body guard.

Then, there is the final irony.

After Castro took over Cuba, Santo Trafficante went there in an effort to resurrect one of his gambling casinos. Castro put him in jail. Carlos Marcello sent Jack Ruby to Havana to negotiate Santos release from prison. Castro agreed after the three men then set up a Caribbean heroin drug traffic operation. No. There was no conspiracy to kill Kennedy. It just happens to be a small world.

What I do not really understand however is why there is so much doubt that the assassination of John F. Kennedy was a conspiracy and that the dots were purposefully never connected. Just watch the Zapruder film.

Kennedy takes the first bullet, that going into his back then exits through his trachea and hits John Connelly. Both men react. Kennedy falls slightly forward and to his left while bringing both hands forward with his fists clenched and then up toward his throat. Connelly at the same time turns hard to his right as the bullet goes into his back.

Jacqueline quizzically looks toward JFK and begins to move to assist him, at which time the President’s head is forcefully blown back or sideways by a second shot that coming from the front or the side, rips through his head and blows his brains out the back of his skull. Entry wounds cause a little hole. Not splatter.

This is the point where Mrs. Kennedy panics and tries to crawl out the back of the car.

One can look at mountains of evidence, re-creations, and tedious explanations from both sides of the theory and form opinions either way, but the film is real and the film tells it all. Then there is the testimony of mob hitman James Filer who admitted that he shot Kennedy from the fence behind the grassy knoll.

By adding insult to injury, a mob stooge, Jack Ruby, known to be a soldier employed by Carlos Marcello, then kills Lee Harvey Oswald, a man undoubtedly involved and naively recruited to have been history’s greatest patsy. We are then supposed to swallow the propaganda line that Ruby was so upset about losing his ‘beloved president’ that he simply could not help himself. How perfectly maudlin.

The History Channel airs an astute series on the assassination of John F. Kennedy. In the final capitulation one commentator states that if it true the murder was covered up at the highest levels of government, then it is also true we do not live in a democracy, but rather the case that we live in a hierarchy.

One does not even have to link this concept to a political assassination. If we actually lived in a democracy, then even an unemployed blue-collar Pittsburgh steelworker or a Detroit autoworker would have an equal chance to be elected President.

Or even worse, perhaps this country was spared the frightening possibility of reverting to governance by monarchy. Think about twenty-four sequential years of a Jack-Bobby-Teddy Presidency, and because the family breeds like Irish Jack rabbits, following this with endless generations of Kennedy political animals running amok in Washington.

This may have been foremost in the mind of one of LBJ’s daughters, who in being far less than jubilant after his Vice-Presidential nomination in 1959, was told by her father that they had not come to the nominating convention to pout. She quipped back that they had not come to the convention to be the Vice President either.

Funny thing then about the death taking place in Dallas, no?






If you really want to hit a moving target, you must triangulate it. Two shots successfully hit from two different directions. The third one hit the pavement.

Final score: Guns two. Brains nothing



Or if you don’t like triangles, perhaps a perfect Pentagon fits the bill.

  • CIA
  • FBI
  • Mafia
  • Cuba Libre
  • Ambitious Vice President. The man who would be king.
Zapruder clips http://pages.prodigy.net/whiskey99/fig21.jpg

Uncle Bill and the Kennedy Assassination

Uncle Bill and the Kennedy assassination 

I was in the tenth grade sitting in Social Studies class when it was announced on the PA system that John F. Kennedy had been shot. It is probable that almost everyone who was alive at the time can remember exactly where he was and exactly what he was doing on the day this news was delivered. It was also an earth-shaking event that truly seemed beyond comprehension.

At that time my Uncle Bill lived in Dallas where he also owned a popular bar.

William Howard Cooper being a hard living, hard driving, hard loving man, was the kind of person who could be best described as a “real high flyer.” He admitted to smoking a pack of cigarettes a day as well as to drinking a case of beer and just short of a quart of Jack Daniels Bourbon to go along with it.

Beside this addiction to alcohol and tobacco he also had an addictive penchant for gambling that would take him on frequent round trip junkets to Las Vegas. One week he would be asking Granny Cooper to hide upwards of $50,000 in winnings for him in a suitcase under her bed, saying, “ I don’t want my wife Jean to know about this,” then go back to Vegas with it the next week returning empty handed and begging his momma for grocery, beer, whiskey and cigarette money.

He was also involved in some shady sideline business dealings as suspected by him showing up for brief visits at our house in New York toting or trying to fob off anything from newly hijacked microwave ovens to recently fenced multi-stone diamond rings. The deals for these items that apparently had just “fallen of a truck” were so good, that my mother could not resist them; and although Bill never directly stole, he never seemed to mind being in the “secondary retail broker market.”

As Aunt Jeannie used to say about it:

  • Bill is not really an outright liar. He’s just plain outright devious.

On these occasional trips “up North,” my mother would ask him to stay with us for a few days, but after about twelve hours of fidgety boredom or endless to and fro pacing, he would usually depart to go back to run his bar.

  • Ya’ll just don’t understand, Ruth. Ya see it all goes down like this. Ever’ night when they close up, my employees take out mah cash drawer and throw it up to the ceilin’ an’ ever’ thing that sticks on the roof, they say belongs to me, and ever’ thing that falls back down on the floor they get to keep for themselves. I got to go back or I’ll be broke in no time flat.

He had an old eighteen-foot teak Chris Craft boat with an inboard engine that he kept on the Texas Colorado River near Matagorda. Every once in a while when he got good and liquored up would aimlessly and recklessly race it up around the riverfront, much to the consternation of local sport fishermen or other folks of more genteel persuasion.

Even though he was arrested for this habit on more than one occasion, for some strange reason he always seemed to have a certain persuasion with the local police, who would then at some later date be seen riding out on the river with him themselves “hootin’ and a hollerin‘ and, of course, at similar breakneck speeds.

My father took one ride with him, one time and one time only. He said the escapade was so harrowing it nearly caused him to wet his pants.

uncle Bill


At one time Bill even cashed in on the football craze by running a Bar-Bus out to Arlington Stadium so that the drunken Dallas Cowboy fans that had signed on with him would have a safe ride back and forth. This was a motorized four wheeled cocktail lounge, undoubtedly quite novel for its time or place in the scheme of customer service innovations. But I also wonder how legal it may have been or how many political payoffs were involved to keep it in operation.

Unfortunately however, just about any Evetts descendant who smokes will also risk the curse of early vascular disease, because of what the additive effects nicotine brings to their genetically inherited high cholesterol levels along with a generalized predisposition to being overweight.

Aunt Thelma Jean, for example, who also smoked excessively and whose favorite libation was Schlitz beer; eventually had just about every artery in her body replaced by Denton Cooley. She used to say that if he got up to ten operations she would ask him to give her the next one free “just like at the car wash.”

After he had his third heart attack wild Bill Cooper checked himself out of the hospital. He told the doctors that enough was enough. He said:

  • Thanks anyway doc, but I just ain’t gonna lay around this dump anymore like some ol’ cripple. 

With that comment and despite the doctor’s protestations he pulled out his IV, checked out AMA (against medical advice) went home and died shortly thereafter in the comfort of his own living room recliner chair. He was 54 years old.

My mother used to say that Bill had nine lives. I told her that no, in fact he had lived nine lives while secretly thinking to myself that in doing so he had made up for all four of his sister’s conservatively self-inflicted solitary lives of boredom.

Sometime within the week after John Kennedy was killed, then subsequently Lee Harvey Oswald, my mother called Bill in Dallas and asked him “what in tarnation is going on down there? “ He told her that he knew Jack Ruby personally because Ruby had frequently patronized his bar. It was one of those hangouts where the mob, the politicians and the police crossed paths, exchanging information… and probably “a whole lot more.”

  • I don’t rightly know Ruth, but ever body down here knows that Jack was mobbed up and all the police are in on the take too. So I just don’t rightly know for certain, and I can’t really say so for sure but it seems to me like somethin’ mighty funny is going on.

A great many people still immutably believe to this very day in both their hearts and to the core of their souls that on November 20 in1963 something honestly and truly was very rotten in the Lone Star State’s notorious city of Dallas.



Dealy plaza

Now I don’t rightly know for sure Ruth, but it seems purdy likely to me that somethin’ mighty fishy is goin’ on down here. Yes indeedy. Somethin’ mighty fishy. 

(Uncle Bill)

Dealy Plaza Photo © www.2lc-online.com