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Douglas Caddy

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  1. Canadian believes father took photo of 2nd assassin https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cm-XJ-VQAHo
  2. Ghost of the Cold War By David Ignatius Wednesday, April 11, 20075 Washington Post http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/conte...id=opinionsbox1 Roll back the tape to January 1964: America is still reeling from the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, and investigators don't know what to make of the fact that the apparent assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, lived for three years in the Soviet Union. Did the Russians have any role in JFK's death? Then a KGB defector named Yuri Nosenko surfaces in Geneva and tells his CIA handlers that he knows the Soviets had nothing to do with Oswald. How is Nosenko so sure? Because he handled Oswald's KGB file, and he knows the spy service had never considered dealing with him. For many spy buffs, the Nosenko story has always seemed too good to be true. How convenient that he defected at the very moment the KGB's chiefs were eager to reassure the Warren Commission about Oswald's sojourn in Russia. What's more, Nosenko brought other goodies that on close examination were also suspicious -- information that seemed intended to divert the CIA's attention from the possibility that its codes had been broken and its inner sanctum penetrated. The Nosenko case is one of the gnarly puzzles of Cold War history. It vexed the CIA's fabled counterintelligence chief, James Jesus Angleton, to the end of his days. And it has titillated a generation of novelists and screenwriters -- most recently providing the background for Robert De Niro's sinuous spy film "The Good Shepherd." Now the CIA case officer who initially handled Nosenko, Tennent H. Bagley, has written his own account. And it is a stunner. It's impossible to read this book without developing doubts about Nosenko's bona fides. Many readers will conclude that Angleton was right all along -- that Nosenko was a phony, sent by the KGB to deceive a gullible CIA. That's not the official CIA judgment, of course. The agency gave Nosenko its stamp of approval in 1968 and again in 1976. Indeed, as often happens, the agency itself became the villain, with critics denouncing Angleton, Bagley and other skeptics for their harsh interrogation of Nosenko. In its eagerness to tidy up the mess, the agency even invited Nosenko to lecture to its young officers about counterintelligence. It happens that I met Angleton in the late 1970s, in the twilight of his life in the shadows. I was a reporter in my late 20s, and it occurred to me to invite the fabled counterintelligence chief to lunch. (Back then, even retired super-spooks listed their numbers in the phone book. I can still hear in my mind his creepily precise voice on the answering machine: "We are not in, at present. . . .") Angleton arrived at his favorite haunt, the Army and Navy Club on Farragut Square, cadaverously thin and dressed in black. He might have been playing himself in a movie. He displayed all the weird traits that were part of the Angleton legend, clasping his Virginia Slims cigarette daintily between thumb and forefinger and sipping his potent cocktail through a long, thin straw. And he was still obsessed with the Nosenko case. He urged me, in a series of interviews, to pursue another Russian defector code-named "Sasha," who he was convinced was part of the skein of KGB lies. The man ran a little picture-framing shop in Alexandria and seemed an unlikely master spy. I gradually concluded that Angleton had lost it, and after I wrote that he himself had once been accused of being the secret mole, he stopped returning my calls. Bagley's book, "Spy Wars," should reopen the Nosenko case. He has gathered strong evidence that the Russian defector could not have been who he initially said he was; that he could not have reviewed the Oswald file; that his claims about how the KGB discovered the identities of two CIA moles in Moscow could not have been right. According to Bagley, even Nosenko eventually admitted that some of what he had told the CIA was false. What larger purpose did the deception serve? Bagley argues that the KGB's real game was to steer the CIA away from realizing that the Russians had recruited one American code clerk in Moscow in 1949 and perhaps two others later on. The KGB may also have hoped to protect an early (and to this day undiscovered) mole inside the CIA. Take a stroll with Bagley down paranoia lane and you are reminded just how good the Russians are at the three-dimensional chess game of intelligence. For a century, their spies have created entire networks of illusion -- phony dissident movements, fake spy services -- to condition the desired response. Reading Bagley's book, I could not help thinking: What mind games are the Russians playing with us today?
  3. Lyndon Johnson: Israel Has Had No Better Friend https://www.haaretz.com/us-news/lyndon-johnson-no-better-friend-1.6073630
  4. How will gutting Net Neutrality affect the Education Forum? https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/backlash-building-over-plan-gut-net-neutrality-n823436
  5. https://www.aol.com/article/news/2017/03/22/former-trump-campaign-chair-paul-manafort-secretly-worked-benefit-putin/21905514/
  6. Douglas Caddy

    What really happened at Mena

    http://prorev.com/wwduncan.htm
  7. Douglas Caddy

    Jim DiEugenio Is On Coast To Coast AM Tonight.

    Thanks, Joe, for alerting us to this. Here is a summary of Jim's interview: https://www.coasttocoastam.com/show/2018/04/29
  8. Douglas Caddy

    E. Howard Hunt

    The decision that Dorothy Hunt must be killed and killed soon was reached after Hunt had this conversation with his White House sponsor, Charles Colson in November 1972.. Hunt got the message and chose to plead guilty at the first Watergate trial that took place in January 1973. Dorothy will killed in December 1972. Hunt, after her death, called his four children together and told them he was going to plead guilty because he feared they would be the next homicide victims if he did not do so. I attended Dorothy's funeral at a Catholic church in Maryland. Hunt walked across the parking lot when I arrived and embraced me while crying inconsolably. Then I started crying. The internment took place on top of a hill in a cemetery while lightning bolts continuously struck nearby. Its memory is embedded forever in my mind.
  9. https://theintercept.com/2018/04/25/intercepted-podcast-the-haspel-ultimatum/ As the CIA wages a domestic propaganda campaign to push through Gina Haspel’s nomination, Jeremy breaks down the history of the CIA and the Church Committee investigations.
  10. Douglas Caddy

    Will JFK Files Stay Secret?

    http://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/trump-delays-release-of-some-jfk-assassination-files-until-2021-bowing-to-national-security-concerns/ar-AAwnicJ?li=BBnbfcL&ocid=UE07DHP
  11. http://jfk.hood.edu/Collection/Weisberg Subject Index Files/H Disk/Hoover J Edgar Part 1/Item 47.pdf
  12. David Talbot posted this on Facebook today: I suppose I must be waking from my post-stroke slumber, because I'm feeling like connecting again with the outside world. And what a strange and momentous time to be coming back to life! More on our mad circus of a country in a future post -- but for now I want to keep this personal. They don't tell you that having a stroke can be a liberating experience for some fortunate people...including me. I seem to have emerged from my brain trauma in a miraculously happier, even blissful and giddy state at times. I take life's daily blows more in stride, and feel its highs more acutely. I put things in perspective and take a longer view. I've become somehow more patient and attentive to others. Hey, I'm no saint -- but I have to say that my stroke has made me a better person, less temperamental and driven, more in the moment and in touch with those I love. (They say so too.) My wife Camille, who has been joined at the hip with me throughout my recovery and rehab drama, and I have developed a sick sense of humor to get us through it all. She's a writer too - in fact she interrupted her own wonderful book in progress for Viking Penguin on the globe-trotting, bohemian marriage of Fanny and Robert Louis Stevenson (she was a kickass American frontier woman turned artist) -- to care for me these past months. (Fortunately she'll be going back to work soon.) Anyway, during all the stress and drudgery of rehab and doctor appointments, Camille and I entertain each other by coming up with book titles for today's modern stroke victims -- such as "Different Strokes for Different Folks." We also ponder writing a cheery book modeled on those upbeat hospital booklets they hand out to you -- we'd call it, "Congratulations...You're Having a Stroke!" But in all seriousness, this medical catastrophe has in some very real way been a cursed blessing for me -- just what the doctor ordered. It derailed my life in some essential way that I'm still trying to make sense of. I wake up every morning with two simultaneous realizations in my head...1/ Damn, I've had a stroke...and my vision is still screwed up, and so is my speech and sense of balance...and 2/ Damn, I'm still alive, and I can think and read and walk (slowly) and give love! The second thought soon overwhelms the first and continues to through most of the day. I just watched a re-reun of the Ken Burns documentary on the Roosevelts. (And yes, I greatly admire some of his work -- I must say that in my new magnanimous mood, because I was so critical of his Vietnam series.) Anyway, narrator Peter Coyote tells the story of how FDR first returned to his office in Manhattan after being stricken by polio. He needed the assistance of his driver to walk on crutches into the lobby of the big office building, but he still stumbled and fell awkwardly on the lobby floor, as a crowd of people looked on. How did Roosevelt react to this public debacle? He broke into loud laughter, and simply asked for people's help to get back up. That's how I want to navigate whatever is left of my life -- laughing off the calamities that have befallen me (after all, they're built into life) and learning to depend on the kindness of others. If you carry your burden more lightly, I've found that it's also easier on those around you, especially the ones you love and who care the most about you. My two cents for the day...or maybe three (my stroke has made me a bit long-winded).
  13. Douglas Caddy

    David Talbot writes about his recovery from a stroke

    David Talbot posted this on Facebook yesterday: Between Heaven and Hell: Tales From the Stroke Ward (Pictured: That's me outside the ward, much improved but still wearing a crooked smile) Before my ocean of feelings about my stroke – and the five weeks I spent in a stroke ward --- begin to evaporate (as even the most overwhelming experiences can and do), I want to record some observations about my sojourn at San Francisco’s Davies Hospital and the care I received there from its staff. My hospitalization still haunts me and terrifies me -- and makes me believe in people’s depthless capacity for love and compassion. When I tell stories about my weird and wonderful ordeal to friends and family, my heart begins to race, and I even worry about having another stroke. But I need to convey some sense of the experience, and how it changed my life forever -- and to pay tribute to the circle of complete strangers who for five intense weeks became my family. Btw, I’ll return to this subject now and then in future posts -- sorry, it’s going to take some time to process and I’m never just going to “move on.” I don’t want to. I want to always hold on to what I went though, and what I’ve become. Of course, you keep changing after a stroke, and who knows who I’ll be in another five months? But for now, I still have a strange sense of floating outside myself. I’m in my wounded, slowly healing body, but I’m not. I’m alive, but not fully. This hybrid existence gives me a different perspective on my life – and all my life-long passions (love, family, friendship, politics, journalism, music, film, food, the grand human parade, this mortal coil and whatever looms beyond, if anything). Everything is less intense these days, I see things in more proportion and with greater balance. And everything is MORE intense. My emotions can be as volatile and unpredictable as a high-mountain summer storm. This weekend, I completely surprised myself by bursting into tears while visiting the location where my son Joe has begun directing his first feature film. Then as I began crying uncontrollably, I started laughing at the same time. My jumbled brain literally didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—or do both. I was simply amazed to still be alive and to be witnessing this major moment in my son’s life, surrounded by a special group of young women and men with whom he’s been pursuing this dream for the last five years. Anyway, I’ve gotten off track… I tend to do that nowadays. This post is supposed to focus on the social experience of my hospitalization. Of course modern hospitals are like Lysol-washed factories. They have 24-hour shifts and work rules and protocols and workplace grievances and human grudges and bitchiness. When the fog began to lift in my storm-racked brain, I began to get a sense of the grinding routine on the stroke ward – and how its staff of strange angels often lifted me high on their wings, while bestowing the same special grace on ten or twenty other patients. Davies Hospital, which occupies a small campus tucked away on the edge of San Francisco’s Castro District, has something of a legendary reputation, as one of the main treatment centers for the AIDS epidemic that ravaged our city – a plague that brought out the city’s true glory and resilience and human solidarity. The stroke ward staff, and the hospital in general, still has glimmers of this brave past. The deliriously diverse makeup of the dedicated medical staff is the most powerful answer to the tight, walled world of Trumpism you can imagine. The doctors and nurses and technicians and support staff come from all around the world. They’re from Guatemala, Brazil, China, the Philippines, Ethiopia, Russia, Germany, Tasmania and beyond. They're lesbian, gay, straight and none of the above. And they all treated me as a human being worth their time and care. They sat on my bed and told me scandalous jokes. They gossiped about the stroke ward and the holiday parties that were being planned – and asked my advice whether they should go to Palm Springs for Christmas, even though they had mixed feelings about the guest list.. They shared outrageous stories about hospital life -- like the patient who was equipped with a bowel bag but couldn’t help from eating a smuggled-in bean burrito – with explosive consequences. (The haz mat team took days to clean his room –forced to swab even the intricate crevices in the TV that was suspended high above his bed – talk about going projectile). They expanded my traditional Western medical treatment, with all its latest pharmacology and intrusive devices, by offering me an array of alternative care, from acupuncture to Reiki massage. One especially creative male nurse adorned the center of my body with gemstones. (It felt warm and comforting.) A neurosurgeon who happened to come into my room at the time was stunned by the tableaux that greeted him – it looked like I was being prepared for human sacrifice. Among my numerous disabilities after my stroke was my urinary dysfunction. My inability to piss forced the nurses to catheterize me three or four times a day. This procedure is of course not something to look forward to, but as the dread time would draw near, I would dearly pray that I would get one of the more adept nurses on shift. The gay nurses tended to be best at wielding a catheter. “Honey, I know my way around a penis,” one of my favorite nurses assured me. “The trick is to use lots of lube.” As the days and weeks wore on, despite the nurses’ ungrudging xxxistance, I began to worry more and more about my equipment failure. My worst fear was that when I was finally discharged from the hospital, I still wouldn’t be able to, well, discharge. And as the date drew near, in fact, the nursing staff began to prepare me for this unhappy possibility by trying to train my wife and me how to do the procedure. But I proved inept because my right arm and hand were partially paralyzed. Poor Camille seemed amazingly game to learn the task. I’m delighted to announce (you can’t imagine HOW delighted) that just days before I was due to be released, the floodgates opened and the golden fluid flowed. When at long last I pissed on my own, the nursing staff – who had the sweet but sort of annoying habit of asking me how it went each time I visited the bathroom – broke into loud cheers in my room. For the rest of the day, doctors and nurses filed into my room to congratulate me. The blessed event occurred ten days before Christmas, and it was the best present I’ve ever had. Truly. I spent Thanksgiving on an eerily quiet ward, gorging on ice chips and whatever was flowing through my feeding tube (pureed turkey)? I did not get out of the hospital until December 22. But the holiday season was made much more festive for me when my wife and sister Margaret (who had flown in from the East Coast, where she writes for The New Yorker, to be with me) brought some sparkling Christmas lights to decorate my hospital room. I had requested lavender lights instead of the traditional red and green (boring), and the twinkling display never failed to cheer up the harried staff when they stopped by on their rounds. My male nurse from Brazil was a larger-than-life, boisterous presence, and he insisted on re-stringing the lights and re-arranging the bouquets that kept arriving, in order to make the room more fabulous. He succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. Later, when I was getting ready to leave, he demanded that I gift the lavender lights to him, and I couldn’t imagine a better home for them. The deep, dark hours of the night are naturally the most disturbing in a hospital. The hustle and bustle has died out, and all you hear is the occasional, eerie moan from another patient’s room, some suffering soul who can’t make it through the night. It’s hard to slumber in peace because you’re awakened at regular intervals by nurses who need to “check your vitals,” to make sure you’re still alive. The graveyard shift at hospitals is sometimes staffed by heroic individuals – and sometimes by some of the sketchier personnel. About halfway through my hospitalization, I was very fortunate to have a true shining angel appear by my bedside during the late, late shift. She often had the unenviable task of catheterizing me in the wee wee hours, which she invariably did with expert hands and a remarkable good cheer. During odd intervals like this, I often fell into conversation with the staff, asking about their background stories -- out of journalistic habit, loneliness, and a genuine curiosity to know about the men and women who held my life, and my body parts, in their hands. This particular angel, whom I never saw in a bad mood during my long weeks in the hospital, had come to San Francisco from the Philippines as a young woman. Now she was a grandmother, and she regaled me with stories about her family and about the holiday feasts she was preparing. One night she brought her homemade tapioca pudding to me because she knew I had a hard time swallowing. Eventually it came out that this woman cared for her autistic grandson during her off hours from the hospital. While encouraging me to learn how to catheter myself, she told me that her brother had been crippled in a car accident as a young man, and had been forced to learn to catheter himself many years ago because he was paralyzed from the waist down. She told me that her buoyant spirit came from her Catholic faith, but there was something celestial even deeper in her soul. I could go on forever about my hospital “ family.” About the beautiful young Cambodian physical therapist whose parents had escaped the mad killing fields there. She forced me to stand when I thought my swirling dizziness would make me throw up. And this miracle walker had me walking with a cane when I thought I’d never take another step. And there was my speech therapist, the progeny of a Jewish father and Chinese mother who had met doing city politics (classic San Francisco story). She began each morning by reading to me from the daily newspapers, because she knew I was a news junkie. She encouraged me to start eating increasingly more challenging solid foods, carefully watching my throat muscles with each swallow to make sure I wouldn’t choke or aspirate. At this stage of my recovery, eating just a few morsels was so strenuous, and frankly scary, that it hardly seemed worth it. My speech therapist was another miracle worker on the stroke patient “reassembly line” who was so boundless in her radiance and determination that it was infectious. At a time when my facial paralysis made it nearly impossible to even crack a crooked smile, she made me laugh out loud about the latest Trump antics or absurdity of life. The cast of Davies Hospital Stroke Ward celebrities is much larger, of course, but I can’t celebrate them all here. I also don’t want to unduly invade their privacy. But let me at least sing their first names to the skies, where bright stars should illuminate the galaxy for all time in their honor. I will remember their large and small acts of grace and kindness as long as I live. They not only made it possible for me to keep living, they restored my faith in the often questionable phenomenon that is the human race. Stroke ward angels, let your names ring out forever! Glenn, Rebecca, Jason, Eliano, Nella, Sarah, Meaza, Thomas, Dr. Knapp (never knew his first name), Dr. Ng (ditto), Patty, Paolo, Larry, Jeffrey, Jane, Lisa. Please forgive me, all those whose names have escaped me. I plead mental infirmity. After all, I had a fucking stroke!
  14. Reinvestigating the RFK and MLK Assassinations at 50 The 17th Annual Forensic Science and Law Symposium May 2 – 4, 2018 Duquesne University Pittsburgh, PA A three-day national symposium re investigating the assassinations of Senator Robert F. Kennedy and the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. on the occasion of the upcoming 50th anniversaries of those history-altering events will be held from May 2-4 at Duquesne University. The conference organized by the university-affiliated Cyril H. Wecht Institute for Forensic Science will feature the noted forensic pathologist Dr. Wecht along with many other experts on the assassinations. Confirmed speakers include: Thomas N. Noguchi, M.D Former Chief Medical Examiner, Los Angeles County Autopsist of Sen. Robert F. Kennedy William F. Pepper, Esq., Ed.D. Appellate Attorney for Sirhan Sirhan Former Attorney for James Earl Ray Paul Schrade Former RFK Presidential Campaign Aide Shooting Victim and Witness Philip Van Praag Acoustic Evidence Expert Co-Author, An Open & Shut Case Cyril H. Wecht, M.D., J.D. Forensic Pathologist, Author and Educator
  15. http://www.duq.edu/about/centers-and-institutes/cyril-h-wecht-institute-of-forensic-science-and-law/the-annual-symposium
  16. https://www.coasttocoastam.com/show/2018/04/16
  17. Douglas Caddy

    Mort Sahl on JFK

    Mort Sahl on JFK https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLBINnEpNu5u7tdX0bXFBCzKFSL_ehDaWQ
  18. Douglas Caddy

    The FBI and the Promis affair: part 1

    https://www.muckrock.com/news/archives/2017/may/16/FBI-promis-part-1/
  19. Evidence implicates Jack Anderson in Watergate https://glomardisclosure.com/2016/12/07/evidence-implicates-jack-anderson-watergate/
  20. Will Ruha wrote on Facebook on April 9, 2018 the following: The sudden, stark, violent assassination of President John F. Kennedy marked the seminal event in the lives of American youth, transforming our rather blithe and carefree world of mirth and fun to a new, terribly tragic awareness and enveloping melancholy, accompanied by a lasting nostalgia for the innocence lost. A few years after the Allen Dulles-orchestrated CIA “Big Event” in Dallas, I discovered this very apt poem by Tennyson, that has since become a personal favorite: Break, break, break, On thy cold grey stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead, Will never come back to me. Social observer Ralph Rosenblum once wrote an article about Penn Jones Jr., in which he astutely surmised the underlying motivation of Penn and most all of us in the Assassination Research community: grief. He said our search for the truth was, in no small part, a purposeful expression of our profoundly lasting grief. To this I would add that it is also a measure of our attempted expiation of guilt at having so heedlessly underappreciated our egalitarian democratic young leader until it was too late. We lived, then, largely ingenuous lives, guileless in their joyful romps and bravely encouraged dreams. Under Kennedy’s masterful leadership we had the temerity to believe that we might actually forego thermonuclear extinction and live out - “along lines of excellence” - lives of expanding scope and fulfilled promise. It seemed, in those few brief years, to indeed be, as poet Robert Frost prophesied, “a Golden Age of Poetry and Power,” the apogee of a new emerging era of American exceptionalism rooted in cultivation of each citizen’s “full use of one’s powers” toward new bold, selfless and cooperative acts of courageous experiment to maintain (a however tenuous) peace and improve the lot of mankind on this planet. John Fitzgerald Kennedy, bright, handsome, witty, and wise, was our modern Pericles, our offer to humanity of an iconic world statesman of exceptional vision, cogent argument and articulate voice. He who had barely eked out a popular vote victory, had, by his brilliance, charm, and charismatic rule, become accepted by more than 70% of the populace. Alas, too accepted. We assumed we had time to express our appreciation at the polls in 1964, and over the course of an ensuing, even brighter next four years, only to be brought up short by the bursting volley of shots in Dallas. And so, our protracted process of grief, of expiation, of melancholy and nostalgia. Grief is the prelude to wisdom. We, now, in our old age, are wiser. And in that wisdom is our lament over not only his loss, but that of much of the society he led. As Albert Camus wrote in lamenting the death of his friend Leynaud, “With him here I saw more clearly, and his death, far from making me better, as the books of consolation say, made my revolt more blind. The finest thing I can say in his favor is that he would not have followed me in that revolt.” Camus understood the nature of assassination as a political tool (so too, Allen Dulles, who thus chose to portray Oswald as a “Lone Nut” assassin): “But no good is done to men by killing their friends, as I know only too well by now.” The difference is, Camus, like Kennedy himself, rejected the notion of any socio-political-economic entity having value over that of the individual human being. This the Algerian Resistance leader expressed thusly: “And who can ever justify that dreadful death? What are duty, virtue, honors compared to what was irreplaceable in Leynaud? Yes, what are they but the paltry alibis of those who remain alive? We were cheated of a man three years ago, and since then we have had a heavy heart, that is all I can say. For us who loved him and for all those who, without knowing him. Deserved to love him, this is a dead loss.” Thus, to turn a phrase: And so the ship of state goes on to its haven under the Hill, But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still.
  21. DOUGLAS CADDY ATTORNEY-AT-LAW 7941 Katy Freeway Suite 296 Houston, Texas 77024 713-867-3476 Email: douglascaddy@justice.com February 9, 2018 Mr. David S. Ferriero The Archivist of the United States The National Archives and Records Administration 8601 Adelphi Road College Park, MD 20740-6001 Re: Secret “Message to the American People” written by President Richard M. Nixon for posterity that he left hidden inside the White House Dear Mr. Ferriero: I am attorney admitted to the District of Columbia and Tcxas Bars and author of my forthcoming autobiography, “Being There: Eyewitness to History,” that Trine Day Publishers will release on March 28, 2018. I am also co-author with Confidential Government Informant Robert Merritt of the book, “Watergate Exposed: How the President of the United States and the Watergate Burglars Were Set Up” that Trine Day published in 2011. A number of documents from the Watergate Special Prosecutor that the National Archives released to Mr. Merritt in 2010 are reproduced in our book, a copy of which is enclosed. Those documents are concerned with Mr. Merritt and with me as the original attorney for the Watergate seven burglars. In my forthcoming autobiography I disclose new information revealed this year to me by Robert Merritt, information that he has been withholding for over four decades that deals with his role as the sole employee of the secret Huston Plan that was run out of President Nixon’s White House. When White House Counsel John Dean was fired by President Nixon in April 1973 he took the only 31-page written copy of the Huston Plan with him and deposited it with Chief Judge John Sirica. This explosive document has been under court seal ever since, immune from being subpoenaed by any outside source. In 1972 President Nixon summoned Mr. Merritt to three meetings that were held in a secure room far beneath the White House in the early morning hours after midnight. The first was held two days after J. Edgar Hoover died on May 2, 1972, the second about five days before the Watergate case broke with the arrests of five burglars on June 17, 1972, and the third in the second week of July 1972. Page two of three pages At the third and final meeting in July 1972 Mr. Merritt found the President distraught and near tears over an article on Watergate in the Washington Post that he said could destroy his presidency. Because of this unexpected turn of events he assigned Mr. Merritt to deliver clandestinely a three page letter handwritten by him and two tapes to Henry Kissinger at his home. The President described the letter, which he read aloud to Merritt, as the most important document he had ever written because its content dealt with the security of Planet Earth. In essence, Nixon talked about “life as we do not know it.” The President said there was no one in the White House whom he could trust to deliver the letter to Mr. Kissinger, only Mr. Merritt. President Nixon also disclosed to Mr. Merritt that he had written a “Message to the American People” that he had hidden at a location inside the White House for accidental discovery by someone in the future. He disclosed the location to Mr. Merritt with the stipulation that Mr. Merritt could reveal it at some future time if he deemed circumstances merited it. Both Mr. Merritt and I know of its location. We believe the time has come for its disclosure and for it to be placed in the National Archives of the United States. To achieve this goal your cooperation and assistance are needed if in your judgment the existence of such a document is possible. There is no assurance that the document is still there. It may have been retrieved by President Nixon himself or discovered and not disclosed by some unknown person in the past. We would like to request that you to arrange an unpublicized appointment with the White House in the near future at which time you or someone designated by you would meet with a small group of persons selected by Mr. Merritt and me when all of us would then proceed to the location of President Nixon’s secret document. The only conditions that we impose if the document is discovered is that it immediately be read aloud to those present and that copies be made of it and distributed immediately to the public media and to those present after which the National Archives would take permanent possession of President Nixon’s document. To assist you in making a decision on our request for an appointment with the White House I encourage you to watch interviews of Mr. Merritt and me conducted by Daniel Liszt in a Dark Journalist video titled “Nixon’s Secret Time Capsule” scheduled to be posted on YouTube on Thursday, February 15 of this month. Also Linda Mouton Howe will discuss this subject in her three hour segment scheduled for the radio show coasttocoastam on Thursday, Feb. 22. Your attention to this public letter is appreciated. Sincerely yours, /S/ Douglas Caddy Page three of three pages Supplementary Information Pulitzer Prize winning reporter Michael Powell authorized Attorney Douglas Caddy to use this character reference for Robert Merritt: "I am a New York Times columnist and writer and I've worked on and off with Robert Merritt for many years. He can be excitable and passionate, but in my experience he is also remarkably level-headed and his work has benefited many federal and city investigations. He has worked everything from city investigations to the Watergate and the undermining of a president. He now appears to be the victim of a concerted attempt to undermine his credibility and it is taking a grievous and unfair toll on his health and safety." Contact information: Robert Merritt in the Bronx: 646-670-9518 Daniel Liszt in Boston: DJ@DarkJournalist.com and 339-368-8337 Linda Mouton Howe in Albuquerque: earthfiles@earthfiles.com Trine Day Publisher Kris Millegan in Walterville, Oregon: 1-800-556-2012 Attorney Douglas Caddy in his autobiography, “Being There: Eyewitness to History,” takes the reader through some of the greatest historical events of the past seventy years. In the 1950s while still in high school in New Orleans he worked with former FBI agent Gay Banister in combating organized crime in the Big Easy while Lee Harvey Oswald attended high school within walking distance. At Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. he formed the National Student Committee for the Loyalty Oath and Youth for Goldwater for Vice President. This led to the creation of Young Americans for Freedom in 1960 at William F. Buckley’s family estate and marked the founding of the modern Conservative Movement. He worked in the New York City office of Governor Nelson Rockefeller for Lt.-Gov. Malcolm Wilson while attending New York University Law School. In the late 1960s General Foods Corporation sent him to the nation’s capital to be its Washington Representative. Soon thereafter he met “retired” CIA agent E. Howard Hunt and became Hunt’s personal attorney. In 1972 Hunt called him within hours after the arrests of the burglars at Watergate to retain him as the original attorney for the Watergate Seven. Hunt was also a major figure in the Kennedy assassination and confided in him why JFK was murdered. Koreagate followed Watergate and he was summoned by the House committee investigating that scandal that involved a large number of Congressmen. In the 1980s after he moved to Texas he represented notorious criminal Billie Sol Estes in Estes’ attempt to get immunity to come clean about the murders and other crimes that he and his business partner, President Lyndon Johnson, had committed. His participation in more historical events continued right up to the publication of his autobiography and included submission to Special Counsel Robert Mueller of pertinent evidence of Russia’s involvement in the 2016 presidential election.
  22. Yes, and if anyone cannot figure why, then that person lacks the grasp of how the world really works. Why would I disclose my source to the doubters in this forum when doing so would lead to destruction of his career? Hello....
  23. I answered this question in this topic on Sunday. Scroll up to read it.
  24. Buy this new book and read about JFK and the Alien Presence https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-presidents-and-ufos-larry-holcombe/1119182784
  25. Here is an update on this topic: On April 5, 2018, a team of intelligence agents entered the White House and went directly to the library where Nixon's Message to the American People about the Alien Presence was hidden. Using thermal imaging they found it. The Message was hidden in the binder of Volume 2 of American History. The envelope on its outside bore Nixon's handwriting that said, "To be opened in the 2018." The Message did not contain the all-important formula/code that had been developed by scientists at Los Alamos working with a friendly Alien from Niburu (Planet X) who since his arrival on Earth (circa 1952) was under the protection of the American Government. Only Nixon's letter that he gave to Robert Merritt to deliver to Henry Kissinger in 1972 contained the two lines in red ink that spelled out the formula/code. In reality a high intelligent scientist could take the formula/code and from that could write a book that explained its full meaning. Nixon told Merritt that the formula/code would be used for good or for evil. If used for evil it ultimately would lead to destruction of the Earth. If used for good it could lead to benefits for mankind that stagger the mind, such as the cure of all diseases. The question now is how will President Trump use his possession of Nixon's Message? He most likely is attempting to figure out a strategy that would save him and his family members (and others) from being prosecuted for a variety of crimes based on evidence now in the hands of prosecutor Robert Mueller. Could Trump use Nixon's Message in a public announcement to declare that in order to deal with the Alien Presence he was declaring national martial law under a military dictatorship? This could stop Mueller in his tracks. Who know what Trump, one of the most evil persons in history, is planning? Or will the Deep, Deep State (the successor to Majestic 12) take steps to prevent him from disclosure as it did JFK?
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