False Witness

by Patricia Lambert

  Miguel Torres and John Cancler had more to say. Torres charged that Garrison aides had tried to persuade him to identify Clay Shaw as Clay Bertrand and to testify that he had participated in “sex orgies” with Shaw at his home. Cancler, a “high-class” burglar known as John the Baptist, claimed that a Garrison investigator had urged him to enter Shaw’s home and plant evidence.* The program’s most far-reaching disclosure came from Dean Andrews. Clay Shaw was not Clay Bertrand. “I wouldn’t know Clay Shaw if I fell over him on the street dead,” Andrews was quoted as saying.24

  Garrison was infuriated by the broadcast and immediately went on the offensive. He accused NBC of “trying to torpedo” his case. He said the network’s objective was “to bring an end to the investigation into the facts of the assassination”; and he accused Walter Sheridan of making improper offers to Perry Russo.25 In an ironic mirror image of the Beaubouef affair, Garrison soon charged both Sheridan and Townley with bribery for allegedly offering Perry Russo a job and a place to live in California. Garrison’s counterattack gave his supporters hope by making it appear that his accusations against NBC had some merit.

  The NBC broadcast marked the beginning of a grim two-week period for Garrison. Aaron Kohn, managing director of the Metropolitan Crime Commission (a private watchdog organization), demanded that State Attorney General Jack Gremillion investigate Garrison’s activities. Gremillion demurred, claiming he lacked the authority. But the biggest blow to Garrison came from his own camp with the defection of investigator William Gurvich.26 That turned into a riveting public drama. The fuse was lit when Gurvich met secretly with Robert Kennedy and briefed him on Garrison’s investigation.* That ninety-minute session on June 8 began at Kennedy’s Virginia home, continued in a cab, and ended at the airport with the two men sitting on the edge of a luggage conveyor.27

  Gurvich was trying to work behind the scenes but someone leaked news of the meeting to a Long Island daily published by Robert Kennedy’s friend and former Lyndon Johnson aide Bill Moyers. Gurvich, choosing his words carefully, spoke to a reporter for the newspaper on June 22. That story ran the next day. Gurvich told the reporter that Garrison was “sincere” in what he was doing but “broadly hinted” that the case was without substance. That evening NBC News reported that Gurvich had told RFK there was “no basis in fact and no material evidence in Garrison’s case for an assassination plot” against President Kennedy.28

  Deeply stung, Garrison attacked Gurvich with a vengeance. He first put out word that Gurvich hadn’t been involved in the case for the last couple of months. Then he released a statement belittling Gurvich as the operator of a “night-watchman service” and “little more than a chauffeur and photographer” for the district attorney’s office, all grossly untrue.† Garrison also pointed a finger as usual at the federal government. “A tremendous amount of federal power is being brought to bear on anyone connected with our investigation,” he said; “the official Washington attitude is that our inquiry must be stopped at all cost.”29

  Nothing hurt Garrison more than the defection of Gurvich, a key member of his original group. The owner and executive vice-president of a large, well-known security service and detective agency founded by his father (a former FBI agent), Gurvich was highly respected nationally and internationally for his investigatory skills. He and his brother, Leonard Gurvich, had worked for Garrison since he first took office and requested their assistance. Tall and trim at forty-two, he was described by one writer as “handsome though graying” and “a casting director’s idea” of a private investigator.30 Gurvich began working on the case in December 1966 and he played an important and conspicuous role.

  His first reaction to Garrison’s personal attack on him was low key. He told a reporter for the New York Times that he had “grave misgivings” about Garrison’s inquiry and intended to urge Garrison to rethink the case.31 He arrived back in New Orleans that same day, a Sunday, and wired Garrison, requesting a 10:30 appointment Monday morning. But when he arrived on Monday, Garrison saw to it that he was humiliated. Louis Ivon stopped him from entering the inner area by blocking his way. Gurvich tried to reach Garrison using the telephone at the reception desk, without success. James Alcock then appeared and escorted him inside. About fifteen minutes later, he left, telling reporters that he had waited long enough. Shortly afterwards, he called the district attorney’s office and officially resigned his dollar-a-year post. The gloves were now off.

  Gurvich told the press that Garrison was “irrational” and that some of his witnesses should be charged with perjury. He said on local television that Garrison employed methods that were “illegal and unethical.”32 He also made it clear that he was going to try to convince the grand jury that Clay Shaw should not have been indicted in the first place, and that Garrison’s investigation should be stopped.33 Gurvich had declared war on Jim Garrison. But by appealing to the grand jury, he had placed himself directly in the sights of Garrison’s heaviest artillery. Worst of all, it was a hopeless move. Gurvich thought these grand jurors still had jurisdiction over Shaw’s indictment, but it was out of their hands. Yet even if they could have undone it, as Gurvich hoped, they would not have. They were under Garrison’s spell as well as his thumb.

  This jury functioned as Garrison’s personal tool. As its legal advisor, the district attorney controlled it under ordinary circumstances. That was especially true in this instance. Seven members of this jury (known as the LaBiche grand jury after its foreman, Albert V. LaBiche) were Legionnaires and, like Garrison, members of the New Orleans Athletic Club, which Garrison used as an alternate office. Some of them reportedly contributed money to his cause.34 * Moreover, the entire jury had been indoctrinated by Garrison. He brought in Warren Report critics Mark Lane, Harold Weisberg, William Turner, and others to lecture them about the Dallas shooting, using photographs, drawings, and charts.

  At the beginning Garrison had assured these jurors that he knew who “the real assassins were and would haul them to justice.” They believed him. In an extraordinary March session, he made it clear that he didn’t just expect their “cooperation”; he was demanding it. If they didn’t toe the line, Garrison said he would shut the investigation down.35 Gurvich underestimated Garrison’s iron grip on this body. He believed he, too, had friends there and could make them see the light.

  The day after Gurvich resigned, he received a grand jury subpoena for the next day. It arrived at ten o’clock that night. The late-hour notification was a typical Garrison move. It allowed Gurvich no time to collect files or assemble affidavits and witnesses to support his claims, as he had planned to do. The following morning he arrived alone and empty-handed at the grand jury room, defiantly sporting an “Even Paranoids Have Enemies” button. In another routine tactic Garrison kept him waiting while a small army of witnesses entered the room ahead of him.36 He was finally admitted, exhausted and ill (from a bleeding ulcer), eight hours later. Inside, Gurvich faced the twelve jurors, Jim Garrison, and five assistant district attorneys. He testified about an hour in a testy, contentious exchange and left with the understanding that he would be recalled at a later date.37

  At 10:00 P.M., after more than twelve hours in session, Foreman LaBiche appeared and to the waiting news representatives read a sweeping statement that exonerated Jim Garrison of any wrongdoing. “No new evidence has been produced,” LaBiche stated, “to confirm any of the allegations that have been made to date by critics of Mr. Garrison’s case.”38 Garrison had won the day. He had bounced back from the NBC program and he had defused the Gurvich challenge. Eventually, he charged Gurvich with stealing the Shaw case master file. It wasn’t much of a charge, but at least it was something.

  He was more successful with Dean Andrews.

  Questioned on March 16 by Garrison’s men in front of the grand jury, Andrews had abided by his deal with Garrison. He said that he couldn’t say whether or not Shaw was Bertrand. The grand jury returned a perjury indictment against him. The “three-thousand-pound canary”
had pounced. Andrews pleaded not guilty and was granted a jury trial. He was then suspended from his position as assistant district attorney in Jefferson Parish. About a month later, a new five-count perjury indictment was handed down.39 Shortly afterward, Garrison—“flushed with victory”—told writer Epstein that, like everyone else, he liked Andrews, “but I have to show him I mean business.” “Andrews,” Garrison said, “was protecting Shaw.”40

  Andrews now understood the situation. He would either reverse his course and give Garrison the testimony he wanted against Clay Shaw or face serious prosecution. The comic figure was faced with a tragic choice. Throw Clay Shaw to the wolves or be devoured himself. There is no inkling that Andrews ever considered lying about Shaw to save himself. When the chips were down, Andrews acted out of conscience and did the honorable thing.41

  On June 28 Andrews appeared unsummoned outside the grand jury room, determined to be heard. While the jurors inside were listening to the parade of witnesses assembled by Garrison to refute Gurvich and the NBC charges, Andrews addressed the reporters outside. He revealed that “Clay Bertrand” was actually his old friend, bar owner Eugene Davis. But Davis, he said, knew nothing whatever about the assassination. The grand jurors issued a subpoena instanter for Andrews and he was soon talking inside. “If this case is based on the fact that Clay L. Shaw is Clay Bertrand,” he told them, “it’s a joke.” The name Clay Bertrand originated at a “fag wedding” reception years before, he said. A woman named Helen Girt, also known as “Big Jo” or “Butch” introduced Gene Davis to Andrews as “Clay Bertrand.” Andrews had known Davis for years and the introduction was merely banter.42 He said he had repeatedly told Garrison that Clay Shaw was not Bertrand. He now declared the same to the grand jurors: “Clay Shaw is not Clay Bertrand,” he stated. “Indict me if you want to.” He also described the deal he had cut with Garrison prior to Shaw’s arrest and how he had abided by it. “I kept my deal with the giant. I said I can’t say he is and I can’t say he ain’t and I got indicted for it.”43

  When asked by a reporter why he had not revealed Bertrand’s identity sooner, Andrews said he wanted to protect Davis, an innocent bystander. Eugene Davis immediately denied he ever used the name Bertrand, and signed a sworn statement to that effect. He also said he never called Andrews “in reference to representation of Lee Harvey Oswald.”* On both points, Andrews unequivocally agreed.

  On July 5, the same day his fourth child was born, Andrews resigned his job with the Jefferson Parish district attorney’s office to avoid being fired. He had one last card to play before his trial and he did it as conspicuously as possible—in a press conference at the New Orleans Press Club. In a dramatic and categorical mea culpa he publicly acknowledged his wrongdoing. “Clay Shaw,” he said emphatically, “ain’t Clay Bertrand. Amen.” Clay Bertrand, Andrews said, “never existed.” In claiming he did, Andrews admitted, he had been motivated by the desire to jump on the publicity train and ride it to glory. He should have named his fictitious caller Leroy Bertrand, he said. The next day Garrison lodged additional perjury charges against Andrews for his statements to the grand jury identifying Gene Davis as Bertrand.

  Andrews entered the courtroom for his trial in August with eleven counts of perjury against him. After five days of testimony, the jury convicted him on three of them, all for failing to identify Clay Shaw as Clay Bertrand. The trial was a sad affair. One reporter noted that Andrews, alone for a moment during a recess, “wept briefly.” The verdict was not a popular one. “I almost cried,” William Gurvich said. “That same sympathy for Andrews,” the Los Angeles Times reporter wrote, “was frequently expressed throughout the Criminal Courts Building.” A medical report ordered by the court described Andrews as suffering from edema, septicemic shock, and cardiac decomposition. Judge Frank J. Shea nevertheless sentenced him to eighteen months in jail. Perjury, Shea said, in remarks laden with unintended irony, undermines the entire judicial system and “must not be condoned. If not suppressed, it will make meaningless the truth and will encourage willful and irresponsible falsehoods among those who now fear the consequences of such a lie.” It is “all the more reprehensible in the words of an attorney since it can only lead to contempt for the law and courts.”44 In a case founded on lies, Dean Andrews was convicted because he refused to tell one.

  In his triumph over Andrews, Garrison had finally delivered on his promise, made six months earlier at his first Kennedy investigation press conference, that there would be convictions. Garrison believed no one noticed or cared what convictions were for, as long as they were convictions. That is why he pressed so many inconsequential suits. Eventually, he would charge twelve individuals in cases only peripherally related to the Shaw investigation, three of them against reporters. To his supporters these were meant to show he was delivering on his promises. To his opponents they were a message: criticizing the district attorney was a risky business. Many of those indicted, like Dean Andrews, were uncooperative witnesses whom Garrison was either punishing, coercing, or both. While these lawsuits had neither merit nor substantive impact on the case, for some of those charged, they were the source of long-term difficulties.

  Garrison admitted to those close to him that he was engaging in “intimidation,” bringing charges “to make” people give him the information he wanted.45 Members of his staff worried about his tactics and he met with frequent resistance from some. One assistant district attorney removed himself from the investigation, telling Edward O’Donnell, “I’m not getting involved in this and anyone who does is crazy.”46 Others wanted out but remained, presumably for financial or professional reasons. (Reportedly, some of Garrison’s top aides stayed because he promised them judgeships.) Various sources attest to the opposition within Garrison’s own camp.* In the early days of the case, Leonard Gurvich was speaking on the telephone to a senior assistant district attorney who began to cry. “Garrison,” the assistant said, “is ruining the office and everybody in it.”47 Yet none of these men raised a hand to help William Gurvich when he tried to put a stop to what Garrison was doing.

  For Garrison to save face and salvage his credibility, he had to overcome the Gurvich threat, but that bestowed little glory. His victory over Andrews, a figure mentioned in the Warren Report, did. It restored some of his luster, tarnished by the NBC show and Gurvich’s public condemnation. Ironically, Garrison actually benefited from the media criticism. Many saw him as a besieged and unfairly maligned figure. Garrison also garnered a more concrete bonus. He complained to the Federal Communications Commission about the NBC program, demanded equal time, and was granted thirty minutes in which to respond.

  In his nationwide broadcast, Garrison achieved the exposure Life and the Post had failed to deliver. He exploited that fully over the next six months, accepting speaking engagements, appearing on radio and television programs, addressing forums coast to coast and granting interviews to friendly reporters. (A sampling of his constantly shifting theories on the who, how, and why of the assassination is found on pages 181–182.) Playboy, one of the nation’s most popular magazines, ran a lengthy, sympathetic profile. Capping off this media blitz, comedian Mort Sahl arranged for Garrison to appear on Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show. (Clay Shaw’s attorneys telegrammed their protest.) Inspired by all the attention, Garrison expanded his conspiracy ideas to a galactic scale. During a speech in Los Angeles, he named LBJ. Sounding like Marc Antony praising Caesar, Garrison denied he was saying President Johnson was involved, but noted that he had profited more than anyone else from Jack Kennedy’s death. Then he asked rhetorically, wouldn’t it be nice to know Johnson wasn’t involved instead of just assuming?48 † On that same trip Garrison identified another “conspirator,” an employee of the International Council of Christian Churches who resided in North Hollywood, one Edgar Eugene Bradley.

  Garrison charged Bradley, like Shaw, with conspiracy to murder the president and claimed that Bradley for years had been working for the U.S. intelligence apparatus. “I shot who?�
�� Bradley blurted on hearing the news. The charge against Bradley (which was prompted by a letter from a man in Van Nuys, California, who claimed that Bradley had tried to have JFK killed when he was a senator) was perhaps Garrison’s most obviously bogus move.* At the time he had no evidence Bradley was ever in New Orleans or Dallas, much less that he conspired to assassinate the president. Nor was Bradley connected to Shaw, Oswald, or Ferrie, and Garrison’s charge against Bradley didn’t claim that he was.† James Alcock, indignant over the entire affair, told a staff member that he would refuse to prosecute Bradley. “Let’s keep our fingers crossed,” he said, in the hope that Bradley wouldn’t be extradited.49 Alcock got his wish when California’s Governor Reagan rejected the request.

  If the Bradley charge was Garrison’s most transparent act, his attack on Robert Kennedy was the sorriest. Kennedy incurred Garrison’s wrath by releasing a statement defending his friend Walter Sheridan. Garrison retaliated, claiming Kennedy was impeding his investigation. Kennedy didn’t want the “real assassins” caught, Garrison said, because it “would interfere with his political career.”50

  Though most of the media were already disillusioned with Garrison, much of the public was undecided and a large segment, still convinced “he must have something,” was waiting for that something to be revealed at Clay Shaw’s trial. Back in March, Shaw had expected that trial to take place within three to six months, which he considered “a long time to live under the conditions in which [he] was living.” By October, Shaw was referring to those conditions as a “maelstrom.” He feared that Garrison’s ongoing public statements had created an inflammatory atmosphere that jeopardized the prospects for a fair trial. As long as Garrison continued to “[shoot] off his big fat mouth,” as Shaw put it, he wanted his attorneys to delay the trial. His attorneys were more concerned about laying the groundwork for an appeal in the event Shaw was convicted; they accomplished that by filing various motions on a variety of issues. They also had no choice but to investigate all of Garrison’s new “leads” in the case. As Shaw’s financial reserves hemorrhaged, three to six months stretched into two years. He spent the time studying the Warren Report and the writings of its critics, tracking developments and Garrison’s every word, and searching for a way “to take the offensive.”51