Oswald's Tale

by Norman Mailer

MARINA OSWALD. No. I said, “I don’t believe you did that, and everything will turn out well.”

  After all, I couldn’t accuse him—after all, he was my husband.

  MR. RANKIN. And what did he say to that?

  MARINA OSWALD. He said that I should not worry . . . But I could see by his eyes that he was guilty. Rather he tried to appear to be brave. However, by his eyes I could tell that he was afraid.

  This was just a feeling. It is hard to describe.

  MR. RANKIN. Would you help us a little bit by telling us what you saw in his eyes that caused you to think that?

  MARINA OSWALD. He said goodbye to me with his eyes. I knew that. He said that everything would turn out well but he did not believe it himself.2

  Marguerite Oswald has an ability to get a good deal out of the given when it comes to defending Lee:

  MR. RANKIN. About how long did you and Marina spend with your son?

  MARGUERITE OSWALD. I would say I spent about 3 or 4 minutes on the telephone, and then Marina came back to the telephone and talked with Lee [and after that] we left . . . So Marina started crying. Marina says, “Mama, I tell Lee I love Lee and Lee says he love me very much. And Lee tell me to make sure I buy shoes for June.”

  Now, here is a man who is accused of the murder of a President. This is the next day, or let’s say about 24 hours that he has been questioned. His composure is good. And he is thinking about his young daughter wearing shoes.

  Now June was wearing shoes belonging to Mrs. Paine’s little girl, Marina told me—they were little red tennis shoes and the top was worn [and] the boy is concerned about shoes for the baby, [even if] he is in this awful predicament. So he must feel innocent, or sure that everything is going to be all right, as he told me.3

  Then it is Robert’s turn to visit with Lee. It is a year since they have been together at Thanksgiving, but they are brothers, and so their conversation has a tendency to stay inside brotherly parameters. What follows is from Robert Oswald’s book, Lee.

  After a little more talk about the baby and Marina, I finally asked him bluntly, “Lee, what the Sam Hill is going on?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “You don’t know? Look, they’ve got your pistol, they’ve got your rifle, they’ve got you charged with shooting the President and a police officer. And you tell me you don’t know. Now, I want to know just what’s going on.”

  He stiffened and straightened up, his facial expression was suddenly very tight.

  “I just don’t know what they’re talking about,” he said very firmly and deliberately. “Don’t believe all this so-called evidence.”

  I was studying his face closely, trying to find the answer to my question in his eyes or his expression. He realized that, and as I stared into his eyes, he said to me quietly, “Brother, you won’t find anything there.”4

  Robert is not about to give up that easily. He asks about the attorney in New York whom Lee has tried to contact. Lee sloughs the question by suggesting that he is no more than the man Lee desires to have for representation. He is not about to tell Robert that his choice, John Abt, was the lawyer who had defended the leaders of the Communist Party, Gus Hall and Benjamin Davis, against charges of conspiracy to overthrow the U.S. government. It would provoke a quarrel stronger than the bonds of their brotherhood.

  Robert, however, knows Lee well enough to sense that something large is amiss. He says:

  “I’ll get you an attorney down here.”

  “No,” he said, “you stay out of it.”

  “Stay out of it? It looks like I’ve been dragged into it.”

  “I’m not going to have anybody from down here,” he said very firmly. “I want this one.”

  “Well, all right.”5

  The gift Southerners receive with their mother’s milk is not to push a family disagreement too far. They are all aware of old family histories of relatives who brooded on a minor insult for twenty years and then came to their cousin’s door with a loaded shotgun and blew his head off.

  McMillan: . . . just after his visit with Marina, Oswald tried to reach Abt. He succeeded in obtaining Abt’s home and office numbers from the New York operator, but he failed to find him at either place . . .

  Fritz later asked whether Oswald had succeeded in reaching Abt. He answered that he had not, then courteously thanked Fritz for allowing him to use the prison phone.6

  We can picture the consternation of the Communist Party in New York when Oswald’s desire to retain Abt is announced in the newspapers. If Oswald had been working for COINTELPRO, it would seem he has not yet resigned!

  Or, perhaps, he is being doggedly simple. Abt will know how to give him a political defense and dramatize his trial. The Communist Party will have to pay a heavy price for that, but by Oswald’s balance sheet, the personal plus will more than compensate for the Party’s gaping minus.

  MRS. PAINE. Then about 3:30 or 4 [in the afternoon] I got a telephone call . . .

  MR. JENNER. Did you recognize the voice? . . .

  MRS. PAINE. The voice said, “This is Lee.”

  MR. JENNER. Give your best recollection of everything you said and, if you can, please, of everything he said, and exactly what you said.

  MRS. PAINE. I said, “Well, hi.”7

  Lee instructed her to call Abt as soon as the long-distance rates went down that evening. “Ruth was stunned—stunned by his gall . . . [but] appalled and angry as she was, Ruth did try to reach Abt and . . . failed.”8 The lawyer was in a cabin in Connecticut and not reachable.

  MR. BALL. You asked him about the gun again, didn’t you?

  MR. FRITZ. I asked him about a lot of things that [Saturday] morning, I sure did . . .

  MR. BALL. And you asked him the size and shape of the [paper] sack, didn’t you?

  MR. FRITZ. He never admitted bringing the sack . . . He said his lunch was all he brought . . . 9

  The lie has been Oswald’s tool all his life. But now it is different. Where once he could muster five quick lies to confuse one person, now five practical experts in the study of mendacity are examining each one of his lies. His cutting tool is being called upon to work against the most obdurate human materials.

  MR. FRITZ. I asked him [again] about the photograph and he said . . . It wasn’t his picture at all . . .

  MR. BALL. . . . the picture was made by somebody superimposing his face?

  MR. FRITZ. That is right; yes.10

  McMillan: Shortly after 5:00 P.M. on Saturday, Louis H. Nichols, president of the Dallas Bar Association, [was led] to Oswald’s maximum security cell on the fifth floor. Oswald was at the center of three cells with no one on either side. He was lying on his cot. He stood up to greet Nichols and the two men talked on a pair of bunks 3 or 4 feet apart. Nichols explained that he had come to see if he wanted an attorney.

  Did he, Oswald asked, know a lawyer in New York City named John Abt?

  Nichols said that he did not.

  Well, Oswald said, that was the man he would like to have represent him. Failing that, Oswald said he belonged to the A.C.L.U. and would like someone from that organization to represent him. But if that should fall through, he added, “and I can find a lawyer here [in Dallas] who believes in anything I believe in, and believes as I believe, and believes in my innocence”—here Oswald hesitated—“as much as he can, I might let him represent me.”11

  About an hour later, at six on Saturday evening, Marina and Marguerite and June and Rachel were moved by Secret Service men from the Hotel Adolphus (where there were too many people around for good security) over to the Executive Inn near Love Field. By the time they had settled into the new rooms, they had also come to the decision to burn the photograph of Lee that showed his pistol in his belt and his rifle in his upraised hand.

  MR. RANKIN. Had you said anything to her about burning it before that?

  MARGUERITE OSWALD. No, sir. The last time I had seen the picture was . . . when she was trying to tell me the picture was in her shoe. I s
tate here now that . . . she tore up the picture and struck a match to it. Then I took it and flushed it down the toilet . . .

  MR. RANKIN. What day?

  MARGUERITE OSWALD. On Saturday, November 23. Now, I flushed the torn bits and the half-burned thing down the commode. And nothing was said. There was nothing said.12

  They did not know that the picture they were destroying was not crucial evidence but merely one more print of material already in the hands of the police who had found other copies of those same photographs among Oswald’s effects in the Paines’ garage.13

  Marguerite, however, awoke on Sunday morning with an attack of anxiety. It was as if one more trouble, still unfocused, was close at hand to meet all her other troubles, which were many. Where were she and Marina going to live, and how were they going to pay for it? They were two women alone and in need of assistance. They also needed to be able to speak to one another in greater privacy without some official translator from the FBI or the Secret Service hovering between them.

  It was not long that morning before she thought of a possible Russian translator. That would be Peter Paul Gregory, the man who gave language lessons in his native tongue at the Fort Worth Library; yes, that must be meant to be because Marguerite had taken language lessons with Peter Paul Gregory earlier in this year of 1963 with the idea that when Lee was in the mood to see her again, she would be able to converse with her granddaughter in Russian. It had been a dream. She gave up after two lessons. Mr. Gregory had given no sign at all that her name was familiar to him, and besides, Russian was very difficult to learn.

  Still, it was meant to be. Peter Paul Gregory was the first important person outside the family that Lee had met when he came to Fort Worth fifteen months ago from Soviet Russia.

  MARGUERITE OSWALD. So I called . . . I said, “Mr. Gregory, I won’t say who I am, but you know my son and you know my daughter-in-law, and I am in trouble, sir. I am over here.”

  He said, “I am sorry, but I won’t talk to anybody I don’t know.”

  MR. RANKIN. What name did you give him?

  MARGUERITE OSWALD. I didn’t give him any name.

  He said, “I am sorry, but I won’t talk to anyone I don’t know.”

  And I said again, “Well, you know my son real well.”

  He said, “Oh, you are Mrs. Oswald.”

  I said, “Yes, sir, this is Mrs. Oswald. We are at the Executive Inn in Dallas, stranded. And do you know of anyone who would give my daughter-in-law and I a home, and put us up for the time this is going on, so we can be near Lee at the courthouse? I need help, Mr. Gregory.”

  He said, “Mrs. Oswald, what is your room number? I will help you. Hold still. Help will be coming.”

  And so that was the end of my conversation with Mr. Gregory.14

  Marguerite could not know, but at City Hall they were ready to transfer Oswald to the County Jail, where he would be under the custody of the sheriff’s office and security would be easier to enforce. There had been plans to move him to that County Jail since three o’clock yesterday, Saturday afternoon, and different procedures for a safe passage had been discussed and then rearranged, and the time had been altered as well.

  MR. BALL. Did you consider transferring him at night? . . .

  MR. FRITZ. . . . on Saturday night, I had a call at my home from a uniformed captain, Captain Frazier I believe is his name, [who] told me they had some threats and he had to transfer Oswald.

  And I said, well, I don’t know. I said there has been no security setup . . . He called me back then in a few minutes and he told me . . . to leave him where he was.15

  Next, they decided on a scheduled move at 10:00 A.M. on Sunday, but even then, they were late.

  MR. FRITZ. I did do one thing here I should tell you about. When the chief came back and asked me if I was ready to transfer him, I told him I had already complained . . . about the big cameras set up in the jail office and I was afraid we couldn’t get out of the jail with him with all those cameras and all those people in the jail office.

  So when the chief came back he asked if we were ready to transfer and I said, “We are ready when security is ready,” and he said, “It is all set up.” He said, “The people are across the street, and the newsmen are all well back in the garage,” and he said, “It is all set . . . We have got the money wagon up there to transfer him in,” and I said, “Well, I don’t like the idea, chief, of transferring him in a money wagon.” We, of course, didn’t know the driver, nor who he was, nor anything about the money wagon, and he said, “Well, that is all right. Transfer him in your car if you want to, and we will use the money wagon for a decoy . . .”16

  Actually, Fritz, who knew he would lose custody of Oswald as soon as he was transferred over to the sheriff, had been talking to the prisoner for most of Sunday morning. Finally, at 11:10 A.M., after this last interrogation had gone on for an hour longer than expected, Oswald was made ready for the transfer:

  McMillan: But the shirt he had been wearing when he was arrested had been sent to a crime lab in Washington, and he had on only a T-shirt. Some hangers with his clothing were handed in to Fritz’s office, and the officers selected what they considered his best-looking shirt for him to wear. Oswald was adamant. No, he said, and insisted on wearing a black pullover sweater with jagged holes in it. He was now dressed, as he had been in the photographs taken by Marina, all in black—black trousers and a black sweater. Fritz then suggested that he wear a hat to camouflage his looks. Once again, as he had done on entering the jail two days earlier, Oswald refused. He would let the world see who he was.

  Accompanied by Captain Fritz and four detectives, Oswald [reached] the basement of the police station [at 11:20 A.M.,] where he was to step into a waiting car . . . 17

  MR. BALL. How far behind Oswald were you . . . ? Oswald was behind you?

  MR. FRITZ. Behind me.

  MR. BALL. How many feet would you say?

  MR. FRITZ. In feet, I would probably say 8 feet . . . We first called down and they told us everything was all right . . . I kept my officers back in the jail [and] I asked two officers outside the jail if security was good, and they said it was all right. But when we walked out . . . we met the crowd and the officers coming forward . . . 18

  It could be said without undue exaggeration that Dallas, the corporate soul of Texas, has not yet recovered altogether from what transpired in the next few seconds, when a man stepped out of the crowd and, in front of everyone, killed Lee Harvey Oswald.

  9

  “He Cry; He Eye Wet”

  Let us, at least, bury Lee before we look to comprehend what intent might have lived in the mind of Jack Ruby.

  MARGUERITE OSWALD. At 11:30 A.M., Sunday . . . my son [Robert] and Mr. Gregory came to the Executive Inn, all excited. We had diapers strung all over the place. My uniform was washed. I had no clothes with me.

  I went with the [wet] uniform.

  “Hurry up, we have to get you out of here.”

  I am not one to be told what to do, and you gentlemen know that by this time. I said, “What’s your hurry? We have diapers and all. I want to tell you what happened.”

  “Mother, Mother, stop talking. We have to get you out of here.”

  Mr. Gregory said, “Mrs. Oswald, will you listen and get things together? We have to get you out of here.” . . .

  I said, “That is all we have been doing since yesterday, running from one place to another. Give us just a minute. We are coming, but we have to pack things.” . . .

  “Mrs. Oswald, we will talk later. We have to get you out of here.”

  MR. RANKIN. Did you have television in this room?

  MARGUERITE OSWALD. Yes, sir.

  Now here is another Godsend. We watched the television, Marina and I. She watched more than I did. We were very busy, Mr. Rankin. The babies had diarrhea and everything. I was very busy with the babies and the Russian girl . . . we were just getting snatches of it. But Marina wanted to know. “Mama, I want to see Lee.” She was ho
ping Lee would come on the picture, like he did. So this morning, Sunday morning, I said, “Oh, honey, let’s turn the television off. The same thing over and over.”

  And I turned the television off. So Marina and I did not see what happened to my son.

  We turned the television off.

  So we did not know.

  But frantically Robert and Mr. Gregory kept insisting that we pack and run.

  So when we get downstairs, there was Secret Service men all over.1

  You could count on one reaction: Marguerite Oswald would bristle at the sight of authority.

  MARGUERITE OSWALD. . . . as soon as we got in the car Mr. Gregory says, “We are taking you to Robert’s mother-in-law’s house.”

  Now . . . [they] are dairy people—Robert’s in-laws. And they wanted to take us there, which would have been approximately 45 miles from Dallas.

  And I said, “No, you are not taking me out in the sticks . . . I want to be in Dallas where I can help Lee.”

  “Well for security reasons, this is the best place. Nobody would ever find it.”

  I said, “Security reasons? You can give me security in a hotel room in town. I am not going out in this little country town. I want to be in Dallas where I can help Lee.”

  And so I am not being well liked, because all the arrangements were made that we were going to go to this little farmhouse. But I would not go.

  I could not survive if I was 40 or 50 miles away and my son was picked up as a murderer. I had to be right there in Dallas [but] we needed clothes—Marina and the baby needed clothes. So then they decided that they should go to Irving . . .

  When we reached there, they brought us to the chief of police’s home. And there were cars all around.