Reclaiming History (60 page)

4:00 p.m.

Dallas police lieutenant Thurber Lord is the jail lieutenant in charge on the 2:30 p.m. to 10:30 p.m. shift on November 23. Around 4:00 p.m. he gets a call from Detective M. G. Hall of the Homicide and Robbery Bureau telling him that Oswald had requested permission to use the telephone again and that it would be okay for him to do so. Lord telephones Officer J. L. Popplewell on the fifth floor, where he had been assigned to guard the area in front of Oswald’s cell.

Popplewell takes Oswald to the phone and Oswald tells the operator he wants to call Mr. John Abt, an attorney in New York. Oswald apparently didn’t keep the number he had used earlier to call Abt because the operator looks up the number and gives it to him. Oswald hangs up, but can’t remember the number he was just given. He asks Popplewell for a pencil and a piece of paper to write on. The officer tears a corner from a telephone contact slip and gives it to Oswald, along with a pencil. Oswald calls the operator again and this time writes down the number she gives him. He then tries to place the call collect, but there is no answer.
¹¹⁶²

4:22 p.m.

After Oswald unsuccessfully attempts to reach attorney John Abt in New York City from the phone booth on the fifth floor of the jail, he places a local call. In Irving, the telephone rings at the home of Ruth Paine. She answers it.

“This is Lee,” a voice says. She knows who it is—Lee Oswald.

“Well, hi!” she says, unable to hide the surprise in her voice that he would telephone her at all.

“I would like you to call Mr. John Abt in New York for me after six o’clock this evening,” Oswald says. “I’ve got two numbers for you.” Mrs. Paine grabs a nearby pencil and notepad. He gives her two telephone numbers—an office and a home number. Mrs. Paine quickly scribbles the numbers down.

“He’s an attorney I would like to have represent me,” Oswald tells her. “I would be grateful if you would call him for me.”

She is very irritated by the fact that he sounds as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. It seems to him, she feels, that this is a call like any other call, a favor like any other favor. He doesn’t mention the assassination, the fact that he is in jail, or the reason he needs a lawyer. He seems so apart from the situation. Still, she agrees to make the call.

“Okay,” Mrs. Paine manages to say.

Oswald thanks her and hangs up. The receiver is barely back in the cradle when the telephone rings again. Ruth answers it.

“Hi, this is Lee.”

It’s Oswald, calling back again. Mrs. Paine is stunned to hear Oswald repeat his request, nearly word for word. It all seems so strange to her.
¹¹⁶³
*

5:45 p.m.

H. Louis Nichols, president of the Dallas Bar Association, trots up the concrete steps leading to City Hall. Nichols, a member of the American Bar Association since 1949, has been on and off the telephone since two o’clock this afternoon. He had gotten a call from the dean of an eastern law school who said that the media back there were reporting that Lee Oswald couldn’t get a lawyer to represent him in Dallas and he wanted to know if Nichols was doing anything about the situation. Nichols acknowledged that he hadn’t, but promised he would look into it. Under Texas law at the time, an attorney had to be appointed for an accused (if he didn’t already have one) only after he had been indicted by a grand jury, which Oswald hadn’t been yet. But if any defendant needed a lawyer immediately to make sure his rights were being protected, it was Oswald.

Nichols had worked in the city attorney’s office, still represented the city’s credit union, and has a brother on the police force, so he knows many of the top men there. He telephones the assistant police chief, Captain Glen King, who tells him that so far as he knows, Oswald hasn’t asked for a lawyer.

“Well, Glen,” Nichols says, “if you know at any time that he asks for a lawyer, or wants a lawyer, or needs a lawyer, will you tell him that you have talked to me? And that as president of the Bar Association, I have offered to get him a lawyer if he wants one?”

“Why don’t you come down here and talk to him,” King says.

“I don’t know whether I want to do that at this point or not,” Nichols replies.

Within an hour, Nichols got a call from another law school dean, questioning whether the Dallas Bar was doing anything about Oswald’s right to an attorney. That was enough for Nichols, who decides he might as well go down and talk to Oswald directly.

The Dallas Bar Association president takes an elevator to the third floor, where he knows he’ll find the Dallas police administrative offices. When the doors open, Nichols is flabbergasted to find an ocean of reporters and photographers stepping over and around a tangle of television cameras, cables, and electrical cords stretched out across the corridor. He pushes his way through the jam to the eastern end of the building and into Chief Curry’s outer office. Nichols can see Chief Curry in his office talking with three or four men.

“Is Captain King in?” Nichols asks an officer standing nearby.

“I don’t think so,” the officer replies.

Just then, Chief Curry looks up, recognizes Nichols, and motions for him to come in. Nichols tells Curry why he is there.

“Well, I’m glad to see you,” Curry says. “I’ll take you up to see Oswald myself.” They walk out into the hallway and take an elevator to the fifth floor.

The jailer opens the outer door of the maximum-security area of the fifth-floor jail and Nichols and Chief Curry step inside the narrow corridor. Oswald, in trousers and a T-shirt, is lying on his bunk. Oswald gets up as Curry asks the officer seated in the corridor to open Oswald’s cell.

“Mr. Oswald,” Curry says, “this is Louis Nichols, president of the Dallas Bar Association. He’s come here to see whether or not you need or want a lawyer.”

With that short introduction, Chief Curry steps back into the outer hallway, so that they can talk freely, without interference. Curry is far enough away that neither Nichols nor Oswald can see him from inside the cell.

Oswald sits back down on the edge of the bunk. Nichols takes a seat on the bunk across from him, three or four feet away.

“Do you have a lawyer?” Nichols begins.

“Well, I really don’t know what this is all about,” Oswald says. “I’ve been incarcerated and held incommunicado.”

“It’s my understanding that you’re under arrest for the shooting of President Kennedy,” Nichols tells him. “I’m here to see if you need or want a lawyer.”

“Do you know a lawyer in New York named John Abt?” Oswald asks.

“No, I don’t,” Nichols says.

“Well, I would like to have him represent me,” Oswald says in a calm and clear voice. “Do you know any lawyers who are members of the American Civil Liberties Union?”

“I’m sorry,” Nichols says, “I don’t know anybody who is a member of that organization.”

“Well, I’m a member of that organization,” Oswald says, “and if I can’t get Mr. Abt, I would like to have somebody from that organization represent me.”

Nichols can see that Oswald is in full control of his faculties. He is neither belligerent nor does he appear to be frightened or subdued.

“If I can’t get either one of those to represent me,” Oswald adds, “and if I can find a lawyer here who believes in my innocence…”

Oswald hesitates for a moment, then continues.

“…as much as he can, I might let him represent me.”

“What I am interested in knowing, Mr. Oswald,” Nichols responds, “is do you want me or the Dallas Bar Association to try to get you a lawyer right now?”

“No, not now,” Oswald replies. “I talked with members of my family this afternoon and they’re trying to get in touch with Mr. Abt.” Oswald adds, “You might come back next week and if I don’t get some of these other people, I might ask you to get somebody to represent me.”

Satisfied that Oswald knows what he is doing and is aware of his right to counsel, Nichols leaves the cell. As he and Curry climb back into the elevator for the ride back to the third floor, Curry asks if he wants to make a statement to the press.

“I don’t know,” Nichols says. “I don’t know whether it’s the thing to do or not.”

“Well, they are going to be right outside the door here,” Chief Curry warns him, “and if you want to say anything this would be an opportunity to do it.” Curry adds, “Incidentally, I am very glad you came up here. We don’t want any question coming up about us refusing to let him have a lawyer. That takes the burden off us.”
¹¹⁶⁴

6:15 p.m.

The elevator doors open and they step into a swarm of photographers and cameramen. When the media see who it is, they pack in closer. Chief Curry raises his voice above the ruckus.

“This is Mr. Nichols, president of the Dallas Bar Association,” Curry announces. “He has been talking to Mr. Oswald and he will make a statement for you if he desires.”

Flashbulbs pop and microphones are pushed toward Nichols’s face as he suddenly finds himself on live television, wholly unprepared.

Nichols explains what has just transpired.

“Did he seem to be in possession of all his faculties? Did he deny the shooting to you?”

More questions follow until little can be understood. Nichols picks one out of the noise and answers.

“He appeared to be perfectly rational and I could observe no abnormalities about him at all in the short time that I visited with him,” Nichols says.

“Do you know anything about John Abt?” someone asks.

“I don’t know anything about him,” Nichols says.

“How long did you talk with him?”

“About three minutes,” Nichols replies.

“Do you think he can get a fair trial in Dallas?” a reporter asks skeptically.

“I think he can get a fair trial in Dallas,” Nichols says with assurance.

“Would you be willing to represent him?” someone asks.

Nichols’s answer is quick and direct.

“I do not practice criminal law,” he says, “and I’ve never tried a criminal case so I don’t know the answer to that.”
¹¹⁶⁵

L
ieutenant Robert E. McKinney of the Forgery Bureau appears at the office of Justice of the Peace David Johnston in Richardson, Texas, with a criminal complaint (“Affidavit” number F-155) he’s prepared and signed as an affiant charging Oswald with assault with intent to murder Governor John Connally. Johnston affixes his signature to the complaint and it is officially filed at 6:15 p.m.
¹¹⁶⁶
Oswald will never be arraigned on this charge.
¹¹⁶⁷

B
ack in Homicide and Robbery, Captain Fritz picks up the telephone and calls the Identification Bureau on the fourth floor. “Have them bring those pictures down to my office,” he orders.

They know what pictures he’s talking about—the photographs of Oswald holding a rifle.

6:24 p.m.

Under orders from Captain Fritz, Detectives Sims, Hall, and Graves escort Oswald down from his jail cell to the Homicide and Robbery office for another interrogation session. Once again, Oswald is marched through the third-floor corridor. He’s getting good at playing to the crowd of reporters, using their microphones to take jabs at the police department and build sympathy. This time he complains about being denied “the basic fundamental hygienic rights like a shower.”
¹¹⁶⁸

The smirk quickly evaporates from Oswald’s face as he’s brought into the homicide captain’s office. Three homicide detectives in white Stetson hats stand guard, silently.
¹¹⁶⁹
Fritz walks in, followed by Secret Service inspector Thomas Kelley, FBI agent James Bookhout, and homicide detective Guy Rose, who is carrying an envelope.

Oswald immediately complains about not being allowed in the last lineup to put on clothing similar to that worn by some of the other individuals in previous lineups.
¹¹⁷⁰
No one says anything. The hostile prisoner braces himself for another onslaught of questions, but Fritz begins slowly with a methodical list of mundane questions designed to relax and settle Oswald down. Oswald is eager to talk about anything that doesn’t pertain to the assassination investigation and eventually softens with the gentle banter. Soon, Oswald is rambling on about how life is better for the colored people in Russia than it is in the United States.
¹¹⁷¹
Finally, Fritz turns to the business at hand.

“Now, you told me yesterday that you’d never owned a gun,” Fritz says innocently.

“That’s right,” Oswald replies. “I never owned a gun.”

“Okay,” Fritz says, reaching for the envelope Detective Rose has laid on his desk. “I want to show you something.”

Oswald purses his lips and eyes the envelope the captain is reaching into. Like Houdini pulling a rabbit out of a hat, Fritz suddenly produces an eight-by-ten-inch black-and-white photograph and holds it out in front of Oswald.

“How do you explain this?” he says.

The photograph is an enlargement of one found earlier in the afternoon among Oswald’s possessions stored in Mrs. Paine’s garage. After returning to City Hall, and showing it to Captain Fritz, Detective Rose has been working with officers in the Identification Bureau to produce this slightly cropped blowup.
¹¹⁷²
Everyone present can see that Oswald is flustered.

“I’m not going to make any comment about that without the advice of an attorney,” Oswald replies smugly.
¹¹⁷³

“Well, is that your face in the picture?” Fritz asks, pointing at the image.

“I won’t even admit that,” he sneers.
¹¹⁷⁴

“That’s not your face?” Fritz asks, scarcely believing that Oswald would deny what is so obvious.

“No,” Oswald says. “
That’s not even my face
. That’s a fake. I’ve been photographed a number of times since I got here—first by the police, and now every time I get dragged through that hallway. Someone has taken
my picture
and put
my face
on a different body.”

“So that
is
your face?” Fritz asks.

Oswald answers quickly to cover his own contradiction.