*****
IT WAS SURREAL REALITY.
THEN IT WAS OVER.
THE WHOLE ASSASSINATION SEQUENCE COULDN’T HAVE LASTED MORE THAN SIX OR SEVEN SECONDS, BUT IT SEEMED LIKE HOURS.
The next part of his film showed the frames he had taken the next morning when he went back down to show Ella what he had seen and where he had been. This time he took a couple of frames of the Texas School Book Depository, as that is where the Dallas Police Department said Lee Harvey Oswald shot the President. He captured a few frames of the sixth floor. He still felt the shots had come from the picket fence and spent more time taking pictures of that area. This morning’s filming showed people in mourning at Dealey Plaza, revisiting, like he was, the scene of the crime.
The last part of his movie was the South Oak Cliff football game he had taken just hours before. He wasn’t sure which girl he was supposed to be filming, so he filmed everything he saw. The film ended at that point.
The Dynacolor employees turned the lights on. The four men stood there in silence, until Orville spoke up.
“Do you mind if we watch it again?” Orville asked.
“If you’d like,” the technician answered.
The four men watched the film twenty or thirty times that early morning. With each viewing, Orville noticed something he hadn’t noticed before: white hosiery on a woman with a golden coat and wearing white nurse’s shoes,127 three men instead of two on the stairs leading up to the white building area,128 the United States flag furling and unfurling on the presidential limousine, a man sitting on the curb watching the parade.129
Finally, one of the technicians suggested that Orville give the viewings a rest so as not to damage the frames from the heat of the projector’s bulb. He wound the film onto a metal canister and gave it to Orville. No other copies were made. Orville promised to take the original film to the FBI the next day which for most workers would be in a few hours; Sunday, December 1, 1963.
He and his son drove home in silence. The lack of sleep and spectacle of what they had spent the last hour viewing was overwhelming.
As Orville pulled into his son’s driveway, Orville Junior said, “I’ll call you tomorrow, Dad, to see what the FBI says. Try to get some rest. I love you.”
Orville drove home with only one thought. At least one of those shots had to have come from the stockade fence area. He didn’t care what the Dallas Police Department said. He knew what he saw. He knew what he heard. He knew he was right.
The sun had begun to rise and a new day was dawning.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
“Every American ought to have the right to be treated as he would wish to be treated, as he would wish to have his children treated.”
John F. Kennedy130
Orville was up early on Sunday, December 1st, 1963 to fulfill his promise of taking his film to the FBI. Since he had to work, he left earlier than usual to make the stop at the Santa Fe Building at 1114 Commerce before going to work at the Terminal Annex.131 He had called Forrest before he left and his friend had told him to go to the twelfth floor and drop it off at J. Gordon Shanklin’s office.132 But first, Forrest had accosted him with a flurry of questions.
“Orville, what does it show, your film I mean?” he asked.
“Well Forrest, it doesn’t show much, its only 8 or 9 seconds long I think and since I took it while I was running, the film is at a funny angle, kinda like Elm St. is on a hill.”
“Well it does slope a little Orville, don’t be so hard on yourself, I know you take movies all the time. Does it show the assassination?” he asked slowly.
Orville replied, “It does, Forrest, it does. It’s not up close, because I was standing on Main, but you can see enough to give you nightmares. I tell ya Forrest, from the snap of his head and from the sounds I heard, I just know there were shots from the fence area. I don’t understand why no one is checking into it. Don’t you agree?”
“I do Orville. I thought they came from there too, but Chief Curry says Oswald was the man, and I don’t dare start a war between the Secret Service and the Dallas Police. There are good men there. We all have to work together. Meet the FBI guys downtown, tell them I told you to come. Take your film and we’ll talk next week. Thanks for calling me, my friend,” and with that, he hung up.
Orville put down the phone feeling better that his friend had the same thoughts he had had - there were shots from more than one place. He slapped some aftershave on, grabbed his hat and opened then back door. He stopped. He had an idea. He grabbed the paper and looked through it. Was it Life magazine or Look that paid Zapruder all that money, he couldn’t remember. He found the paper again and saw it was Life magazine. He picked up the phone again and dialed the operator. He asked to be connected to Life.
A young lady answered the phone. “Life magazine, how may I direct your call?”
He explained in his long, Texas drawl that he had taken a film of the assassination. He was immediately transferred to a man named Jackson.
“Before you waste both our time, let me preface this with a warning that we are tired of false alarms regarding the assassination. It seems everyone has a film of the assassination. Give me your name, tell me what you have, let me verify it and I’ll get back with you this afternoon.”
Orville obeyed and gave him his name, Dynacolor’s phone number and the number for the FBI. He also told him he had shared this information with Forrest Sorrels of the Secret Service.
“Fine, fine Mr. Nix. It sounds as if your report is legitimate. I’ll be in touch with you later after it’s verified,” and he slammed the phone down.
Those damned Yankees are the rudest people to walk the earth. They act like the world revolves around them, Orville thought to himself. He grabbed his keys and hat and left.
* * * * *
Orville did as Forrest advised and met with FBI agent Joe Abernathy.133 He promised to have the film back to Orville by the next day. Orville didn’t get it for three days and after calling the FBI offices four and five times a day, they returned it to him. He needed it back because Life magazine had indeed returned his call and were now interested in talking to him about buying his film. UPI’s Burt Reinhardt had gotten wind of his film while it was at the FBI and contacted Orville as well. Orville explained to Reinhardt that he had already been contacted by Life and that maybe they could both bid on his film. His dreams of becoming rich and famous and retiring to a leisurely life of golf and poker returned quickly. He didn’t think about the assassination of a president he had filmed, except in the mornings when he awoke from the nightmares.
The call from Life magazine was one of the high points of Orville Nix‘s life. Orville had never been further east than Mississippi and honestly didn’t care much for people from New York. He had seen his fair share of Northerners talking in accents he didn’t understand around the GSA building on their visits from Washington and New York and he had found the ones he had met brusque and rude. Life offered to fly him to their offices in New York and pay for his hotel. They also offered to pay for Ella’s trip. Ella would have nothing to do with it as she was scared of air travel, so Orville asked Junior to go along with him.134
“Besides,” Ella scolded, “someone has to stay and make a living. Not all of us can go gallivantin’ around the country like we’re important people.”
“I’ll only be taking Friday off, Ella, and if they paid the other man $25,000, surely they’ll pay me at least half of that,” he said to his wife.135 “That’s worth a day’s loss of pay! And just think, honey, you could quit working. We could take more vacations. This could be the best thing that ever happened to us,” he told her with dreams of financial security, fawning women, and new fedoras dancing in his mind.
Orville Junior was excited as well. He had always wanted to visit New York, and at the tender age of twenty-four was about to. He had bought a new suit at Turner Brothers just for the occasion - his mom had helped pay for it. He
wished that his wife Elaine could go along, but it would be nice flying with his dad. He knew how much his dad loved airplanes.
On the morning of December 6th, exactly two weeks after the assassination, Orvilles Sr. and Jr. boarded a 7:00 A.M. American Airlines Electra flight to LaGuardia Airport. (Twenty-two days later, the other airport of that city, New York International Airport at Anderson Field, would be renamed JFK airport in honor of the newly-fallen president.136)
Orville and his namesake left Love Field Airport on a prop airplane with excitement and anticipation. Twenty-four hours later, they would be home frustrated and disgusted.
After the layover in Washington DC, the two Orvilles landed at LaGuardia. The skies were grey and gloomy, matching the skyscrapers that looked down upon them as the driver of the car Life sent to retrieve them drove more recklessly than any driver they had ever seen in Dallas, save for the drunk ones on Industrial Blvd. The driver stopped at the New York Hilton in Midtown and opened the trunk.
“Youse gentlemen don’t have long to get it together. Run up and drop off your bags and change your clothes. I’ll be waiting here for youse. Your appointment at the Time/Life building is in an hour, and its right down the street hee-yah, at 1271 Avenue of the Americas,” he admonished in his thick New York accent.
The two men gathered their small suitcases and pushed their way through the revolving door of the Hilton. Orville Jr., noticing a lady behind going into the hotel, stepped aside and said courteously, “Ladies first, Ma’am.”
She looked at him disdainfully and exclaimed, “Go to hell!”
Orville Jr. was stunned and stood blocking the revolving door. Other people were trying to get in and were shouting, “Move it, buddy” and “Get out of the way.” Was she being rude because she detected his Texas accent? Or was this how women in New York acted.
“Dad, did you hear what that lady said to me?” he asked.
“I heard her, Junior, just ignore it. I told you Yankees were rude. Don’t talk to anyone else until we get to the meeting.”
Though it had been one hundred years since the Civil War, the long unspoken distaste for Southerners and Northerners alike still reared its ugly head from time to time. With the murder of JFK, all those feelings seemed to find their way back into the public psyche, and Dallas had been labeled the “City of Hate” by the rest of the country.137 This incident was only one of many being played out across the country when a Texan, Dallasite or not, went to another state.
This was not the Dallas of “America’s Team.” The Dallas Cowboys Football team could barely win a game, much less become the darlings of the NFL. A few years later, Lamar Hunt, son of H.L. Hunt, would coin the term ‘Super Bowl’ in Dallas.138 But it wasn’t during this time. This was the Dallas before the Texas Rangers Baseball team. They wouldn’t appear for nine more years, again, thanks to the Hunts. In fact, the Hunt family and its progeny did all they could after the assassination to dispel the hate rumors. Was it penance they were paying or was it a love for the city? JR Ewing of the show Dallas, a caricature of big Texas Oil (some would say the Hunts), came fifteen years later.139 Finally, people began questioning, ‘Who shot JR?’ instead of JFK for a time. It seemed that the only bright sign in Dallas was the flying red neon Pegasus Horse of Magnolia Oil (later Mobil Oil) atop the Magnolia Hotel.140
Orville and his son didn’t open their mouths again except to say “thank you” until the driver deposited them at the Time/Life Building. Located in Rockefeller Center, it was one of the fanciest buildings Orville and his son had ever seen. They noted the serpentine patterned sidewalk design that led from the sidewalk all the way into the lobby.141 Once inside, there were huge murals lining the walls, much like the ones in Dallas at Fair Park. The building was forty-eight stories tall, and Time/Life publishing occupied twenty-one of those levels. The glass in the building was all green, making it look like a modern day abode for the Wizard of Oz. In fact, to Orville Sr. the editors could very well be his Wizards of finance as he and his son walked to the elevator.
Two men, wearing dark suits and thin dark ties, approached them and asked, “Are you Orville Nix?”
Orville Sr. replied, “I am. And who might you be?”
“I was sure you would recognize my voice. My name is Burt Reinhardt, we talked briefly in Dallas, and this is my associate Maurice Schonfeld. We’re from UPI and would like to purchase your film,” the man replied.
Orville Jr. spoke up. “Well sirs, we’re here on Life‘s dime and we have an appointment with them to purchase the film.”
“We understand, we’ll be waiting down here when you’re done,” the man named Schonfeld replied.142
Father and son looked at each other, obviously amazed at the men’s confidence that they would be talking again. They made their way to the elevator, and were met by James Wagenvoord, a kind assistant editor who took them to the 34th floor where they met Edward K. Thompson, then editor for Life magazine and later, the founder of The Smithsonian magazine.143 Other men in the room included Art Keylor, General Manager and Chapin Carpenter, the Time/Life financial director.
“I hope you had a grand trip, we’re happy to have you here,” the young Wagenvoord welcomed them. “Now let’s view this film.” Several other people were in the room, but Orville wasn’t introduced to them, and he guessed they were employees or reporters. The room full of men sat in the large boardroom, in the iconic Eames chairs that were made specifically for Time/Life.144 Orville had never sat in a chair so comfortable and so moveable. A woman came in and gave them both cups of strong coffee. Orville asked for cream and sugar. The lights dimmed and the film played. And played. And played. Orville Jr. looked at his dad and whispered, “How many times do they want to see it?”
Orville Sr. shook his head and glared at his son in a silent “shut up.”
After over fifteen viewings of the film, Mr. Thompson spoke with the other men in the room in low tones that Orville couldn’t hear. The lights came back on and Keylor said, “Mr. Nix, we find this film to have nuisance value only. Still and all, we’d like to offer you three thousand dollars for it.”145 What Orville didn’t know was that none of these men were film technicians: they were all executives.
Orville Jr. looked at his dad in disbelief. What a slap in the face, he thought. His father stood slowly, the veins in his neck swelling, his face turning an oxblood red. His son knew he should say something as he was worried that his father was either going to have a stroke, or berate these rude men at any moment. Mr. Wagenvoord was appalled and embarrassed. He quickly looked down at the tall Texan’s huge hands and realized they were tightly clinched. He wondered if he should call security while at the same time hoping the kind visitor would punch one of his pompous bosses in John Wayne style.
“Well sir, thank you for your offer, but we’ll be leaving now,” Orville Jr. said and with that, they took their film and walked quickly to the elevator. The men in the room shook their hands and Orville Jr. wondered if his dad was going to break their arms when he saw how hard he squeezed their hands.
They rode the elevator silently down the thirty-four flights, until Orville Jr. looked at his father and said, “It’s not over, Dad, maybe the guys from UPI are still waiting.”
“Maybe,” Orville replied with a resigned sigh.
As the elevator doors open, Orville looked out into the lobby and the two men from UPI were still waiting. His face reverted to its normal color.
“Did you sell it?” Reinhardt asked.
“We weren’t happy with their offer,” Orville Jr. spoke for his dad. “We were expecting more than three thousand dollars,” he explained.
“Well, let’s go to our offices and talk,” Mr. Reinhardt replied.
“Nossir, not now,” Orville Sr. replied, “We haven’t eaten all day and I need a smoke. Give us the address and we’ll meet you after we eat.”
Reinhardt gave him a business card and the men agreed to meet after dinner. Orville and his son exited the Time/Life Building i
n disgust.
As they walked the long blocks through Midtown Manhattan, Orville said to his son, “Why the hell did we come here? These men want to offer me money for nuisance value? My film is a nuisance? What the hell does that mean, son? I know I’m not an educated man, but by God, this film is history. Any loony tune could see that. Nuisance value?”
“Dad, I’m sure it’s just the Yankee way of doing business. Let’s get something to eat and talk to the UPI guys. Maybe they’ll offer you more.” Orville Jr. was worried about his father. He watched all the dreams he had dreamed of for a few days slip away into cynicism. When they finally found what looked like would be an affordable restaurant, they walked in and sat down. Orville Jr. pulled two menus from the counter, passed one to his dad and began looking at the fare. The diner smelled of old grease and older coffee.
“They want a $1.65 for a hamburger? Without any French fries?” Orville Sr. exclaimed. “Good Lord, what are the burgers made with? Beef from Rockefeller’s private reserve?”
His son chuckled. “Heck, $1.65 would buy my whole family burgers at Griff’s in Dallas.146 Maybe the burgers are made of steak.”
They ate their expensive hamburgers with no fries and 75 cent coffee then hailed a cab. This trip was costing far more than it was making for Orville. He could practically hear Ella’s disapproval in his head.
At UPI, Reinhardt and Schonfeld watched the movie several times. By now, Orville was no longer excited about his fantasy retirement; he was more excited to get back home to his wife. After an hour or so, Reinhardt said, “Quite frankly Mr. Nix, we don’t think we should offer you more than the three thousand dollars Time/Life offered, but since you’ve traveled all the way here, we’d like to offer you a bit more. The film is grainy. It doesn’t look as if you’ve used an expensive brand of film. Would $5,000.00 and a new hat seal the deal?”147
The Missing JFK Assassination Film Page 11