“It was like watching Edward, wasn’t it?” Ella empathized. Orville nodded his head in affirmation.
“Ella,” Orville sadly said, “I wish I could have done more for Edward because he always did so much for me. He never cried about his illness. He hated that we all had to take care of him. He found happiness in our happiness, never thinking of himself. He taught me more than my own daddy did. All I could think of was, I can’t help him, I can’t help him. Then the president is shot, the first lady is a widow and again, I couldn’t do anything to help, Ella.” Tears welled in his eyes.
“He was watching over you yesterday, Orville… he was! You didn’t get shot did you? With all the bullets flying around it’s a wonder only two men were shot. You were meant to be alive, Orville. God isn’t finished with you yet.” Orville kissed his empathetic wife and silently thanked God. She was right.
Orville wiped his face and began filming as he walked with Ella.
“Here’s where I walked after I realized I wanted to see the president a bit closer. I looked up at the Hertz sign and then back to the president’s dark blue limousine. Right then the shooting began and I heard at least four or five shots. Bam… Bam then real fast Bam-Bam. They seemed to be coming from the stockade fence. You know, Ella, my daddy always said you never hear the first shot, just the ones afterwards, I know I heard at least four.”
Orville panned his camera towards the area of which he spoke. Ella’s eyes followed the direction of his camera. She saw the bright white pergola and its crescent moon shape to the front of them. She marveled at the cutwork design of the pergola that she thought would be a lovely place to plant vines. To the left of it, she saw the stockade fence of which her husband spoke; dark tan against the bright white of the Plaza shelter.94 The sun empathized with her feelings as well as those of her husband’s. She was staring at the Elm St. part of the Triple Underpass bridge as a single ray of sunlight shone through brilliantly forming a cross of shadows. She felt goosebumps at the sight. It was as if God was mourning the loss of the young president as well.
Orville’s voice shook her back to reality.
“Mrs. Kennedy was trying to get out of the car, she was crawling across the trunk and then some man jumped on the back of the car. I guess he was a Secret Service man and pushed her back in as the car sped away towards the Triple Underpass. It all happened so fast but seemed to last for hours,” Orville lamented as he looked up towards the Texas School Book Depository. The Hertz sign blinked 7:30 A.M.; nineteen hours later than the time Orville had looked up at it before. The president hadn’t been dead twenty-four hours, yet the world was already a different place.
* * * * *
Across the street at the Dal-Tex building, Abraham Zapruder was meeting with Richard Stolley from Life Magazine along with Forrest Sorrels and some other Secret Service men.95 They all screened the film and were disturbed by the graphic presidential murder the film portrayed. This was at least the fifth time Abraham had watched the horror movie he had taken.
“I don’t want Mrs. Kennedy or her children to see this, Stolley. I don’t want this film exploited by turning it into a Hollywood movie or trading cards. Time/Life can have the film, but only if the more graphic frames aren’t shown,” Zapruder said tearfully.96 Stolley eagerly agreed to the shaken business owner’s stipulations.
On November 29th, 1963, exactly one week after the assassination, Life Magazine published thirty-one frames from the Zapruder film, omitting the graphic frames numbered from 312-315 under Zapruder’s direction.97 Later, it was discovered that critical frames were transposed to depict a more forward motion of Kennedy’s head rather than a rearward motion. It was explained thusly many years later:
“James Wagenvoord, the editorial business manager and assistant to Life Magazine’s executive editor, Dick Pollard, realized that a mistake had been made: “I asked about it when the stills were first printed, (they didn’t read right) and then duped for distribution to the European and British papers/magazines. The only response I got was an icy stare from Dick Pollard, Life’s Director of Photography. So being an ambitious employee, I had them distributed. In 1965 FBI director J. Edgar Hoover explained this reversing of the Zapruder frames as a ‘printing error’.98
This “error” would be the second of many errors with regards to the Zapruder and Nix films, but by this time, Zapruder’s evidentiary film could no longer be considered such as it had been altered by Life magazine under Zapruder’s direction. For a quarter, any person could purchase the only known photographic evidence of the charismatic president’s murder. This evidence was on coffee tables, libraries, offices, and subways around the world. The horror movie that was the Zapruder film was enough to shock any reader viewing the magazine and any future juror, and this issue of the magazine did not even reveal the most horrific frames. Of course, by the time this Life issue was released, Lee Harvey Oswald had already been publicly declared the lone assassin and Jack Ruby had ceremoniously executed him for the Kennedy family and America. Scholarly JFK researchers and those not so scholarly would say this “printing error” was the first indication that there was more to the assassination than the public would ever know. If there wasn’t a conspiracy to kill the president, there was a definite conspiracy to withhold the truth from the American people and the world. Why? Were we not able to handle the truth? Were we too naïve? Were we too stupid? Abraham Zapruder wasn’t, but Orville Nix may have been.
In one week’s time, Zapruder’s personal name had become more famous than his company name. Moreover, Zapruder’s personal wealth multiplied substantially. Not only would he receive $150,000 paid in $25,000 increments, he would receive half of any royalties Life procured from its usage in films, television, and print. Orville Nix would receive $5,000 total in his lifetime. In retrospect, the filming positions of both Zapruder and Orville Nix matched the dissimilar way their films and their lives were treated. Though their journeys into this event paralleled, they diverged soon after. Some would say their experiences were just another example of the American way in action: capitalism, secrecy, and the inequality between rich and poor that still rears its ugly head today.
CHAPTER
NINE
FORTY-SEVEN HOURS AND WHITE RESISTOL HATS
“Before my term has ended, we shall have to test anew whether a nation organized and governed such as ours can endure. The outcome is by no means certain.”
John F. Kennedy99
Orville and Ella left Dealey Plaza on Saturday, November 23, 1963 to return to Oak Cliff. They decided to eat a late breakfast at Austin’s Barbecue, a small diner at the intersection of Illinois and Hampton Streets in Oak Cliff.100 Orville went to Austin’s often; sometimes in the morning for breakfast after working the night shift, other times after a particularly hot day at golf. The large plastic cups the owner Austin Cook allowed his customers to take home held enough tea to quench a hot golfer’s thirst.101 The diner was crowded as usual, but even more so today. Every red vinyl booth seemed to be talking about the assassination. Orville and Ella heard snippets of conversations through the scrannel of tunes from the miniature jukes boxes at each table as they waited to be seated.
“Did you see that little commie they picked up?” A burly man asked his friend between Hank Williams yodels.
“Yeah, he has a black eye. If I had gotten hold of him, he would’ve had worst,” the other wearing dusty jeans and boots said.
In another booth, two young women wearing an excessive amount of black eyeliner and overly-bleached, teased blonde hair were hunched over yet talking loudly.
“Tippit worked here you know, as the security guard on Saturday nights usually. I always thought he kinda looked like Kennedy. He had that dreamy, wavy hair. Kenny got mad at me one night because I kept smiling at him,” the blonde with the pink scarf knotted at her neck said. “He usually stood right by the door.” Their miniature jukebox was playing Bobby Vinton’s Blue Velvet.
“Kenny gets mad at any guy you smile at, B
etty. I don’t know why you’re still going out with him. Besides, he should feel badly now knowing that Officer Tippit won’t be around for you to smile at anymore anyway. It’s so tragic isn’t it? He had a wife and kids. I just can’t believe all this is happening,” the blonde with the yellow scarf tied in her hair said as she took a sip of her over-sized drink.
At that moment a short woman adorned in a sheen of perspiration, black hairnet, and red stained apron told Orville their table was ready. They walked to the back of the diner and took their seats, taking care not to tear their clothes on the rips in the red vinyl chairs.
* * * * *
At the same time, Richard Stolley was returning to Life Magazine with the Zapruder film in hand. In downtown Dallas, Lee Harvey Oswald had been arraigned for the murder of President John F. Kennedy and was again being questioned by a myriad of investigators at the Dallas Police Department. The infamous Katzenbach memo from J. Edgar Hoover perfectly summed up the nicely gift-wrapped package that was presented to America and the Kennedy family in the form of Lee Harvey Oswald: “The thing I am most concerned about, and so is Mr. Katzenbach, is having something issued so that we can convince the public that Oswald is the real assassin.”102 Nicholas Katzenbach was not only the Assistant Attorney General, he was the Kennedy emissary to the South in all things legal and had now been anointed the American public’s exorcist to lay to rest all rumors of conspiracy and subterfuge. He conceived the idea of the Warren Commission and later served as Attorney General after Robert F. Kennedy resigned. In the midst of southern race riots, the Bay of Pigs Invasion, and the Cold War, Katzenbach was part of an administration and governmental mindset that believed the people of America were too fragile to handle much more tragedy than they had already seen in the three short years of Kennedy’s tenure.103 In many ways, it was a noble intention: protect the public from knowledge that could hurt. Unfortunately, every good has a bad, and this same worldview would be molested to deny the truth of what really happened on November 22, 1963.
The Dallas Police and Sheriff’s Departments had their own agenda that, luckily for Hoover and Katzenbach, paralleled theirs. The boys in the white open road brim hats104 that were the elite Homicide detectives at the Dallas Police Department were well aware that they had just become front-page news and they were ready to show the world how Texas justice worked. One of the ways they did that was by interviewing Oswald for twelve hours over a three day period. Unfortunately, no official stenographic or tape recordings of these interviews were kept.105 Instead, memoranda notes from a myriad of investigators, including a postal inspector, paint a picture of a man who was calm, stoic, and quiet about his participation in the death of the president and a police officer. The notes also contained inconsistencies that are still being questioned today.106
* * * * *
Orville and Ella ate a quiet lunch that Saturday afternoon and went back home to watch news coverage about Lee Harvey Oswald along with people all over the world. Orville would later learn that he and Ella were not the only people glued to their television sets. From Nov. 22 through 25, 1963, 96% of TV-owning households tuned in for an average of more than 31 hours apiece. On Saturday, November 24, 1963 more facts about Lee Harvey Oswald were being reported about the man who would be labeled the lone assassin. Captain Fritz of the Dallas Police Department said they had found three shell casings on the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository and a rifle had been hidden under some boxes by a stairway nearby. Of course, Fritz failed to tell the people of Dallas that he had taken one of those shells and put it in his pocket, only later to give to the FBI. The first reports were that the rifle was a Mauser. It had now been determined it was an older rifle, an Italian made Mannlicher-Carcano.107 Even later still, word would come that Abraham Zapruder’s friends, Jeanne and George de Mohrenschildt were close friends of Lee Harvey Oswald and his wife Marina.
A young local CBS reporter, Dan Rather, appeared on television near the place where Orville had filmed President Kennedy smiling at the First Lady. Like Orville and Ella, Rather seemed mesmerized by the crowds of people who had shown up at the Plaza that afternoon. Orville listened to him talk about school children cheering at a school as if happy the president had been assassinated.108 That couldn’t be, Orville thought, and at that moment, he swore to never watch Dan Rather on TV again. Why was this upstart news reporter trying to make the whole city look like a bunch of murderers, even the children? Wasn’t it enough that the president had been shot in Dallas? Orville changed the channel and turned back to watch the television. The news report showed a wreath being placed near the point the president was shot and Orville got a tear in his eye at the sight. His emotions turned again though, as he and Ella watched the thin, well-spoken Oswald being questioned by reporters. Oswald had a black eye and it was hard to hear the reporter’s questions because there were so many people in the Dallas Police Department, all of them talking at the same time. Just the sight of this man made Orville’s stomach turn.
“Good Lord Orville, that man doesn’t look strong enough to fire a rifle once, let alone four or five times,” Ella commented.
Orville shook his head in agreement. “What I don’t understand, Ella, is why I heard shots from the fence. They’re saying this man was in the School Book Depository Building. Do you think there could have been another shooter?” he questioned.
“Well, Lord no, Orville! If there had been another shooter, don’t you think they would have mentioned it by now?” Ella replied.
“Are you saying I’m losing my mind woman? I heard shots come from the damned fence!”
Orville got up to light a cigarette and then opened the front door and went outside. He was becoming tired of this round the clock television talk about the death of the president. He wanted things to be like they were before.
He looked up at the sky, wondering if he should get his camera to take pictures of the beautiful Texas sunset. As colorful as it was, the blood red streaks emanating from the Midas-like sun, tinged with hot pink reminded him of blood all over the golden President and First Lady. He took a long drag from his cigarette and closed his eyes, the smoke filling his lungs, the memory of the shots coming back to him. I remember running towards Elm Street. I remember people falling all around him, trying to shield themselves from omnipresent shots. I remember looking toward the stockade fence. The shots definitely came from there. If his own wife didn’t believe him, would anyone else? He opened his eyes and again looked toward the skies. The same God who made such beauty had put him into a position to see such evil. Orville wondered if he would ever use his camera again.
But the evil wasn’t over. During the night, the police reportedly received threats on Oswald’s life through the switchboard.109 Again, no record was kept of them. Henry Wade, the Dallas District Attorney, was not about to risk losing the chance to convict the president’s killer. He made plans to safely transfer the president’s murderer to the Dallas County Jail. Wade had already lost the ability to keep the President’s body in Dallas to the boys of the Federal Departments. That wouldn’t happen with Oswald… at least that’s what he told the public.110 Plans are made to transfer Oswald to the Dallas County Jail, directly across from the Texas School Book Depository, at 10 A.M. the next morning. An armored car would be the decoy while Oswald is transported in an unmarked squad car.111 Postal Inspector Harry Holmes requested to interview Oswald, delaying the transfer by almost an hour and a half.112 Oswald was finally seen being brought down to the basement by elevator surrounded by investigators in white Resistol San Antonio model hats.113 As they escort Oswald in front of news cameras through hallways lined with police, reporters and investigators from dozens of law enforcement agencies, Oswald was seen wearing a white t-shirt and dark sweater.114
Ella watched the television as she dressed to go to work at Wyatt’s Cafeteria. Orville paced around the living room; he had felt anxious since last night. They have never watched television like this their whole lives.
“
He’s wearing different clothes, Orville,” Ella mentions, “Do you think his wife brought him a change of clothes because he was cold?”
Orville noted the dark sweater Oswald was now wearing, rolled up at the sleeves. The V-neck white t-shirt he wore under it provided a sharp contrast on the black and white television.
“Maybe,” he replied.
They continued to watch the news as several men in white and light colored cowboy hats entered the basement with Oswald in tow.115 Men in suits were everywhere; some holding cameras, some holding paper, some just walking around. Oswald was obviously handcuffed and there was a large man holding his arm on the right, leading him along. The world would later learn that man was James Leavelle.116 L.C. Graves, in a dark suit and fedora was on his left. Orville knew many of the FBI and Secret Service agents from work, but he recognized none of these men. The group of three slowly moved through the Dallas Police Department basement, as if in a wedding march. There were flashbulbs and shouts from reporters. It’s like an Elvis concert, Orville thought to himself. Just then, a short, stocky man wearing a dark gangster-like hat jumped out from the right side of the television screen. A gunshot rang out. Oswald cringed in pain. The news announcer shouted in an anxious voice, “There’s a scuffle. Oswald has been shot. Oswald has been shot.”
Orville was shaking. The sound of the gunshot echoed throughout the televised basement, loud and clear. He jumped at the sound.
“Not again!” he yelled. “Not again!” Orville, Ella and millions of people had just witnessed the first televised murder in the history of media.
An ambulance seemed to appear out of nowhere. How did it get there that fast? There is pandemonium. The white Resistol hats were wrestling the short, dark Fedora to the ground. The fedora-man is later identified as Jack Ruby, the owner of a burlesque joint called the Carousel Club and passionate Kennedy supporter.117
The Missing JFK Assassination Film Page 9