William King Harvey aka Oliver Hardy

[Evan Marshall]

Air America on forged orders. Spent time in NV getting ready.

[Chuck Schwartz]

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After, the Big Event, did he go back to SE Asia?

[Karl Kinaski]

Oliver Hardy aka William King Harvey seems real: 

From the Memo Inspector Kelley USSS 29. 11. 1963, page 3, quote: (It is the last page, or page 177 of the actual doc.) 

 

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... while Oswald was in the operating room, no one other than medical personal was present but a Dallas policeman who had accompanied Oswald in the ambulance was standing in the doorway of the operating room in operating room scrub clothes. 

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Reminder: 

From Dr. Charles Crenshaws book: JFK HAS BEEN SHOT (Crenshaw describes the moments when Oswald was on the operating table)

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After the major bleeding had been brought under control, I looked up and
took  a  deep  breath.  When  I  did,  I  spotted  a  large  man  across  the  room
whom I didn’t recognize. He resembled Oliver Hardy in a scrub suit with no
mask. Most alarming, there was a pistol hanging from his back pocket; if it
had fallen to the floor, it could have discharged and killed someone. I never
knew how he got into the operating room or who gave him the scrub suit.
Just  two  days  earlier,  a  Secret  Service  agent  had  rushed  through  the
emergency  room,  waving  a  gun  as  the  President  of  the  United  States  lay
there,  dying.  Incredibly,  the  man  who  had  been  accused  of  shooting
President  Kennedy  was  now  lying  before  me,  fighting  for  his  life,  while
another  pistol-packing  intruder  looked  on.  I  didn’t  know  what  to  think,
except that we had to get a cap and mask on the son of a bitch before he
contaminated the entire room with bacteria.
I  motioned  for  one  of  the  other  resident  surgeons  to  relieve  me.  I
scrubbed out and got the proper attire for the guy. I wanted to throw his ass
out  of  the  operating  room,  but  I  was  afraid  he  would  shoot  me.  Without
saying  anything,  I  handed  him  the  cap  and  mask.  He  put  it  on  without
comment. As I was turning around, a nurse tapped me on the shoulder and
asked if I would take a telephone call in the supervisor’s office. She had
chosen me to take the call because I was the head of Surgical “B,” the team
that began the operation. I agreed to answer the call and left the operating
room. When I entered the office, the receiver was lying on the desk.
“This is Dr. Crenshaw, may I help you?”
“This  is  President  Lyndon  B.  Johnson,”  the  voice  thundered.  “Dr.
Crenshaw, how is the accused assassin?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The very first thought that I had
was, how did he know when to call?
“Mr. President, he’s holding his own at the moment,” I reported.
“Would you mind taking a message to the operating surgeon?” he asked
in a manner that sounded more like an order.
“Dr. Shires is very busy right now, but I will convey your message.”
“Dr. Crenshaw, I want a deathbed confession from the accused assassin.
There’s  a  man  in  the  operating  room  who  will  take  the  statement.  I  will
expect full cooperation in this matter,” he said firmly.
“Yes, sir,” I replied and hung up the telephone. I almost laughed in the
President’s ear. If he could have seen the mess in the operating room and
the condition of our patient, he wouldn’t have asked.
As  I  stood  there  in  a  state  of  disbelief,  my  mind  was  racing.  First,
“deathbed  confession”  implies  that  someone  is  going  to  die.  If  Oswald
doesn’t die on the table, is “Oliver Hardy” or someone else going to kill
him?
 (...) why would the President of the United States personally call
the operating room at Parkland Hospital and ask for a deathbed confession?
That  question  still  puzzles  me. (...)
I rushed back into the operating room and approached Dr. Shires. There
was  blood  everywhere,  and  five  sets  of  hands  were  working  in  Oswald’s
belly.
“You won’t believe who I just talked to,” I said to Dr. Shires.
He looked at me with a “what’s next” expression.
“President Johnson would like for us to allow that man over there to get a
statement from our patient.”
Shires  glanced  at  “Oliver  Hardy,”  shook  his  head  in  disbelief,  and
returned  his  attention  to  the  operation.  I  wish  that  I  could  have  taken  a
picture  of  him  as  he  stood  there,  covered  in  blood.  It  would  have  been
worth an entire library of words in expressing our efforts to save Oswald.
Under  the  best  circumstances,  it  would  have  been  days  before  Oswald
could have spoken lucidly to anyone. It was ironic. We had a patient on the
table  under   oxygen  anesthesia,  bleeding  to  death  from  a  bullet  that  had
penetrated almost every organ in his body, and the President of the United
States wanted the intruder with the gun to conduct an interview. The fact
that  a  stranger  was  in  the  operating  room  during  surgery,  something  that
would  have  never  been  tolerated,  best  illustrates  the  hospital’s  state  of
confusion at that time.
Only  moments  later,  at  12:37  P . M.,  almost  one  hour  into  the  operation,
Oswald’s heart began to fail. Dr, Akin’s anesthesiology resident reported to
the operating team that Oswald’s cardiac condition was weakening, and that
his  pulse  rate  was  slowing.  Electrical  impulses  on  the  cardioscope
confirmed  the  sudden  development.  Dr.  Shires  placed  his  hand  under
Oswald’s  diaphragm  to  detect  heart  activity.  As  everyone  looked  on  in
silence, Dr. Shires shook his head and told Dr. Perry that Oswald’s rhythmic
cardiac activity had stopped.
I walked over to our visitor with the gun and remarked, “There won’t be
any  deathbed  confession  today.”  (...)  “Oliver  Hardy”
disappeared, and I never saw him again. 

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Edited October 17, 2023 by Karl Kinaski