But by the spring of 1962 he was frustrated and wanted to move back to the United States. It took months of paperwork, cajoling, letter writing, until he and his family finally made it back to Fort Worth, just west of Dallas, where they would live briefly with his relatives.
Despite the way his dreams in the Soviet Union dissolved, he is still fascinated by communism—and alert to threats of fascism.
As he finds his way in Dallas, he can see that some in the city have consistently embraced General Edwin A. Walker and his allies—and no one is doing anything to stop them.
The race riot in Mississippi is eclipsed by startling news. Two weeks after the confrontations in Oxford, a U-2 flight over Cuba provides evidence of everyone’s worst fears: The Soviets are stocking the island with nuclear missiles aimed at the United States.
Kennedy’s top military commanders brief the president. Led by air force chief Curtis LeMay, the generals call for a direct strike on Cuba. LeMay argues that the best solution for Cuba is to “fry it.”8 Kennedy asks the general how the Russians will respond if the United States bombs Cuba.
“They’ll do nothing,” LeMay shrugs.
“Are you trying to tell me,” Kennedy asks, eyes widening in disbelief, “that they’ll let us bomb their missiles, and kill a lot of Russians and then do nothing? If they don’t do anything in Cuba, then they’ll certainly do something in Berlin.”9
LeMay is insolent. He informs his commander in chief that his failure to order a military strike “would be almost as bad as [Neville Chamberlain’s] appeasement at Munich.” Other chiefs jump into the exchange, endorsing LeMay’s call to bomb Cuba.
Kennedy raises more objections. LeMay warns the president that he risks being viewed as “spineless” by “a lot of our own citizens.”10
JFK instead calls for a naval blockade, an incremental step designed to put off the Soviets without immediately starting a war. For days the world stands poised on the brink of nuclear holocaust. Finally, the Soviets blink and turn their ships back.
Many Americans, including plenty who had been either ambivalent or opposed to Kennedy, erupt in cheers. The young president has stood toe-to-toe with the Kremlin and forced Khrushchev to back down. But the generals are convinced that Kennedy has yet again squandered a golden opportunity to destroy the enemy.
General LeMay fumes: “We had a chance to throw the Communists out of Cuba. But the administration was scared to death [the Soviet Union] might shoot a missile at us.”11
NOVEMBER
Oswald has grown increasingly cold and remote. He has been screaming at Marina, and she is afraid of him—afraid for herself, and for the baby. Tonight, she decides to take the child and move away from the small duplex he found for them in the Oak Cliff section of Dallas, just a few short blocks from where the girlie club owner Jack Ruby shares an apartment with a friend.
He has to wonder if he will ever be reunited with Marina and the baby. She was, perhaps, stronger than he had imagined she would be. Ready to challenge him, in her native Russian, and then to simply pack her bags and move out.
At home, by himself again, he studies the latest news about Kennedy, about Cuba, about Castro. He is just as angered by Kennedy’s actions as the American generals: Kennedy is really just furthering U.S. imperialism in Latin America—and the Cubans obviously always face a massive military threat from the United States… so why shouldn’t they be able to arm themselves?
Truth be told, he was once complimentary of President Kennedy. He’d even pointed to a photo of Kennedy on the cover of Time and remarked how he looked different from “the other ratty politicos.”1 But now Kennedy seems so ready to crush Cuba and Castro.2
Oswald’s interest in extremist politics is taking a knife-edged turn. He has petitioned to join the Trotskyist Socialist Workers Party, but his application is rejected since no chapter exists in Dallas, and there are few prospects of starting one. He does, however, obtain a subscription to the party’s weekly paper, the Militant, which attacks General Walker and President Kennedy’s Cuban policies with equal fervor.
The Worker preaches non-violence, but the Militant is much more forceful, calling for “revolutionary violence when necessary.”3 The Militant is quickly supplanting the Worker as Oswald’s favorite paper.
As per the conditions for his release from the federal psychiatric facility, Edwin Walker presents himself to Parkland Hospital in Dallas for his sanity exam.
The tests are going to be administered by Dr. R. L. Stubblefield, who has been overwhelmed with telegrams and phone calls from Dallasites condemning him for questioning the mental health of a patriot like General Walker.
Stubblefield studies Walker and notes that the ex-general is very cooperative throughout the testing.
“Mr. Walker appears to be able to deal freely and accurately with his recollections of the incidents leading up to his arrest and present charges… It is our impression that the court in this case at this time is NOT concerned about Mr. Walker’s ability to understand fully the more complex and subtle aspects of his motivation in regard to the acts for which he is charged. If it were, and if we were asked to evaluate these kinds of questions, it would be necessary to conduct a much more penetrating exploration of Mr. Walker’s psychological operations.”4
Walker is released from Parkland on November 10. It is his fifty-third birthday.
His attorney Robert Morris, the legendary communist hunter and anti-Kennedy ally to Dealey, announces to the Dallas Morning News that Walker has passed his examinations with flying colors.
The tests reveal that Walker is more than sane, according to Morris:
“Functioning currently at the superior level of intelligence.”5
DECEMBER
Forty thousand people gather in Miami’s Orange Bowl on December 29 to hear President Kennedy speak. He decided to come to South Florida to greet the surviving Bay of Pigs veterans released from prison by Castro after some quiet negotiations—in exchange for their release, Kennedy has agreed to deliver $53 million in food and medicine to Cuba.
Emotions are running high as Kennedy accepts the Cuban brigade’s battle flag. Departing from his prepared text, the president suddenly says:
“I can assure you that this flag will be returned to this brigade in a free Havana.”1
The roars in the stadium echo through the tropical air, even as Kennedy’s civilian staffers grimace. The last thing the country needs, after the delicate negotiations with Castro, is more saber rattling over Cuba.
The Militant, Lee Harvey Oswald’s favorite publication, has determined that Kennedy has reached a new level of evil:
“The most barefaced and disgusting display of immorality, ignorance and bad taste ever put on by a U.S. President.”2
1963
JANUARY
This is the night Rhett James has been dreaming of for Dallas. He has finally succeeded in luring Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. It is King’s first visit in seven years—the previous time had been a below-the-radar address to a church youth group—but now he will make a wide-open public speech at the big Music Hall at Fair Park. As the clock ticks past 7 p.m., James goes through his checklist and makes sure his church’s gospel choir is ready to provide the music.
There is an electricity, an almost palpable buzz—some people won’t be convinced until they actually see King set foot on a Dallas stage. Not everyone is happy, of course: Two hundred protesters huff and stomp outside, yelling that King is a communist.
James knows they are there, but maybe today can be a day of healing, a time for the hate to be put aside. Word is coming in that there are well over twenty-five hundred people in the hall. Looking out, James can see some white people squeezing into the rows up front. James had made a point of inviting staunch conservatives, including the GOP chairman in Dallas—but they declined.
Suddenly, the panicky rumor blurts out: The police think there is a bomb in the building.
Fair Park is home to the largest assemblage of art deco
public buildings in America. Built in 1936 to celebrate the centennial of the Republic of Texas, the park has been the scene of long-running battles to integrate the State Fair—it was there that Juanita Craft and her teenagers from the NAACP once stood outside, politely handing out literature, dutifully holding signs.
Now there is a bomb scare, and Craft is probably not surprised. She has been openly critical of Dr. King,1 though she certainly understands his motivations, and those of Rosa Parks, someone she considers a friend. Craft was a front-line warrior in the first unsuccessful attempts to get the State Fair and the Music Hall integrated—but lately she is worried about Dallas, and thinking that violence is in the air, and that blood may be spilled. Maybe it’s lunatic to invite King into a place like Dallas—where so many see King as the man unraveling the social order, as the very face of the liberal-socialist-communist insurgency in America.
The first story announcing King’s arrival hit the front page of the black newspapers a few weeks ago, while King goes virtually without any mention in the Dallas Morning News. He is the one black American the big daily newspaper is most wary of. Dallas has worked too hard, too long, to tamp down any hint of aggressive unrest in the city. The threat King poses is evident in the twenty-minute movie the Dallas Citizens Council had paid for and screened a thousand times all across the city. Narrated by a forceful Walter Cronkite, Dallas at the Crossroads featured newspaper editors, ministers, prosecutors, police, and businessmen—all white, all cautioning that Dallas will implode if civic disturbances catch fire. One stern Dallas elder after another stares directly into the camera and speaks in grave tones about the consequences of Dallas acting irrationally:
“Nothing is gained by lawlessness,” one of Dealey’s editorial writers somberly says.
“Violence, civil disorder, riots are crimes equally punishable under the law… The police will devote their energies to controlling those few who do not have the judgment and character to obey the law: We know who those few are,” threatens Police Chief Jesse Curry.
“Dallas is a good city—and we want to keep it that way. Together, we shall show America ‘The Dallas Way,’ ” insists Mayor Earle Cabell.
Right now parents who had wanted their children to see the famous Dr. King are pulling their kids closer. James has to be afraid that this crowning moment, this civil rights flare shot straight from the heart of inflexible Dallas, will be utterly ruined. People can hear the chants from the protesters outside.
One of them, Jimmy Robinson, a twenty-four-year-old from a Dallas suburb, is eagerly telling reporters: “We don’t want to start a commotion. We just want to let the people know that we do not believe in what the NAACP and Martin Luther King stand for.”2 He is representing the National States Rights Party, he says, a pro-segregationist group from Georgia whose founder describes Hitler as “too moderate.”
Inside the auditorium, James has to consider King’s safety, and what all this means for Dallas, and even for himself. He has been working for five straight years to bridge Dallas to the national civil rights movement, and this could be the culmination. He led some of the first wide-scale and organized civil rights protests downtown; he helped spur the integration of Dallas schools. He writes the most hard-charging column in the city, in the leading black newspaper; he leads a church founded by slaves; he serves as head of the NAACP; he is in regular communication with Lyndon Baines Johnson; and now, almost as a capstone, he has finally gotten King to come to Dallas.
He has told people King will address the poll tax.3 King and James are fighting it on all fronts, while still urging people to figure out how best to pay it so they can continue to vote. But many people are hoping for more. They want to hear King’s version of “Dallas at the Crossroads”—not the version from the people downtown. They want to hear how Dallas will change, and how fast it will change.
Maybe that’s why someone in the city might want to kill Martin Luther King Jr.—and everyone who has turned out to see him.
In that morning’s edition of the black newspaper, James wrote his regular column. He could have written about King’s upcoming visit that night. He could have written another one of his scorching indictments of corrupt politics, wretched poverty, or racism. But instead, he wrote about love. About how he hoped that Dallas, in 1963, would have the most peaceful, blessed year in its history:
“Live up to the best that is within you… live each day as if it were your last day on Earth… rise above the trite experiences of life and elevate your life into a sphere of radiant and peaceful union with your inner self and your personal relationships… may this year be your best year yet.”4
There really are, James prayed, some signs that Dallas is changing. Maybe if people rise to their feet to cheer Dr. King it will be a sign that Dallas is not a city of hate. That Kennedy has a vision for America. That Johnson is squarely at a distance from the haunted traditions in Texas. That he and Kennedy symbolize a union—a joining of the old frontier with Kennedy’s New Frontier, a way to move the nation forward beyond its fractured past.
Maybe, in 1963, Dallas can finally move away from the anger, the bile, and the violence.
By 8 p.m. the police have finally determined that the bomb threat is probably, hopefully, just a hoax to drive King’s audience away.
The police teams still circulate inside and outside, keeping a wary eye on the roaming picketers. The police push them at least twenty-five feet away from the building, so the attendees can continue to enter in an orderly fashion.
From the front of the hall, James can see the leading rabbi in the city, someone who has been trying to lure Stanley Marcus to join his temple. He can also see the leading black attorneys in the city, the ones who are working directly with Thurgood Marshall to push for desegregation around the nation. There are other preachers and members of different congregations—he can see men from Carter Temple, Lone Star Baptist, Good Street Baptist, the Magnolia CME Church, and many, many more.
James finishes his prayers, the invocation, and the salutations and introduces the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr.
The last time King was in Dallas he was just beginning his crusade, and he had come to speak to that group of young people at a local church. The Dallas teenagers probably had no idea what dangers he was facing, how things were racing toward confrontation and change around America. That was seven years ago. King would no doubt have come back to Dallas if he had been invited—but even many black leaders in the city were afraid of what his visit would unleash.
Staring at the filling auditorium, King is no doubt still thinking about the appropriate message to convey to a city like Dallas. Dallas is complex, with history layered upon history: There is that minister, R. E. Davis, who claims he leads the national wing of the KKK from his home, close to where Jack Ruby and Lee Harvey Oswald have lived; the Confederate cemetery is just a long walk away from the very podium where King is standing; the “stair-step” integration plan is a laughingstock in black activist circles around the nation.
King decides to focus his Dallas speech on “America’s Dream.”
“Segregation is the strange paradox of the principle that all men are created equal,” he begins, his voice ringing over the hushed audience.
Many people in the room have never heard King speak in person.
“We must get rid of the notion, once and for all, that there is a superior and an inferior race.”5
Suddenly, some people are on their feet, interrupting him with rising applause. King pauses and then seems to echo what James has been searching for, pushing for, hoping for in Dallas since the moment he arrived in the city:
“We must develop a powerful action program to break down the barriers of segregation,” and we must be honest “with ourselves and our white brothers: Segregation is wrong. It is a new formula of slavery covered up with nice complexities.”
King nods toward politics, toward Kennedy: He has “done some impressive things in civil rights, especially when compared to the prev
ious administration.” He talks about Kennedy wanting to open up the business portals, the bedrock things that are the special ken of the Dallas Citizens Council, to black people. To poor people. And says that Kennedy should not stop with any order he has handed down to advance equality in the workplace—in the boardrooms. The Kennedy mandate has to push harder, deeper, into the entrenched realms. The Kennedy blueprint is a start, and even if it scares some people in Dallas, the blueprint is not the end:
“It does not do the full job,” shouts King… and President Kennedy “must give the order teeth if it is to work.”
In the audience, people are clapping, raising their hands to the roof. Some shout out: “That’s right!”
King soaks in the applause and decides, now that he has set the table, he can issue an advance warning—to Dallas, and to America. The movement is prepared to move things to another level, to push for a sweeping boycott of businesses. What has happened in Dallas and other cities, the de facto desegregation, is just a beginning. Any businessman in Dallas can be singled out by black citizens. White businessmen can become “targets of a nationwide ‘selective buying’ program.”
James has been shouting it, writing about it, and now King—the one so many people in Dallas thought was fomenting revolution around the nation—is at a podium inside the once perfectly segregated civic jewel of the city and telling black Dallasites to have the courage to storm the gates.
The crowd bursts into applause at least twenty-five times during King’s forty-five-minute plea for justice in America, in Dallas.
“If a man has not found something worth dying for, he isn’t fit to live,” King shouts, his words echoing to the back of the room.
For a second, he seems almost too harsh, too combative.
King decides to add one more thing: “One can struggle to end the reign of segregation… but yet love the segregationist.”
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