Sorry that this is a little off topic:
Curtis LeMay in summer, 1961 thought that Nuclear War with the Russians was Imminent.
"At a Georgetown dinner party recently, the wife of a leading senator sat next to Gen. Curtis LeMay, chief of staff of the Air Force. He told her a nuclear war was inevitable. It would begin in December and be all over by the first of the year. In that interval, every major American city -- Washington, New York, Philadelphia, Detroit, Chicago, Los Angeles -- would be reduced to rubble. Similarly, the principal cities of the Soviet Union would be destroyed. The lady, as she tells it, asked if there were any place where she could take her children and grandchildren to safety; the general would, of course, at the first alert be inside the top-secret underground hideout near Washington from which the retaliatory strike would be directed. He told her that certain unpopulated areas in the far west would be safest." --Marquis Childs, nationally syndicated columnist, Washington Post, 19 July 1961
excerpts pages 5-9 from The Kennedy Assassination Tapes Max Hollandhttp://www.barnesand...land/1100320968
Initially, Dallas seemed intent on playing into the White House’s hands. The Morning News of November 22 carried a full-page advertisement on page 14, rimmed in black, underwritten by a group calling itself the “American Fact-Finding Committee.” Under a sarcastic headline, “welcome mr. kennedy to dallas,” the committee listed twelve deliberately provocative questions, all couched to insinuate that the president (and his brother, the attorney general) were unbearably soft on Communism. The advertisement complemented a handbill that had appeared mysteriously overnight under doors and on the windshields of countless Dallas cars. Featuring the president’s image from the front and the left side, as if taken from a police mug shot, the broadside accused him of turning the United States over to the “communist controlled United Nations.” In case the imagery or text was lost on anyone, the headline read, “wanted for treason.”
After reading the paid advertisement, the president sought to prepare Jacqueline Kennedy for any unpleasantness that might occur in the afternoon. “Oh, you know,” John Kennedy remarked to his wife, “we’re heading into nut country today.” Intensely private, often diffident in public, the First Lady disliked retail politicking and the press. Campaigning combined the two and as such represented the ultimate invasion of her privacy and the control she cherished. Her disdain for the gestures expected of a politician’s wife meant her presence was sometimes a mixed blessing when the president was electioneering. The state of being “on,” the lot of political wives, exhausted her. The president would have to remind her not to wear large sunglasses, like some Hollywood movie star, and she almost never partook in the behind-the-scenes bantering with staff. The most frequent adjectives applied to the First Lady were “aloof” and “regal,” and the latter description was not necessarily intended as complimentary. Jacqueline Kennedy had a “formidable” temper in private, and to hardened pols she was “Jackie the Socialite.” She had nonetheless agreed to accompany her husband on his swing through Texas, her presence viewed as a drawing card because of her fluency in Spanish and because Dallas—home of the famed Neiman-Marcus department store—was such a fashion-conscious city that it would turn out just to see what “Jackie” would be wearing. And true to form, the November 7 news that Mrs. Kennedy would accompany the president had substantially increased demand for tickets to the Trade Mart luncheon as well as the other venues on the tour.
The Morning News advertisement was a perfect expression of Dallas’s venom for the president. Passions, apparently, had not cooled in the wake of the Stevenson incident, and the prospect of a scuffle or some other unsightly incident along the motorcade route or at the Trade Mart appeared likely. But probably there would be nothing more than that, because Dallas law enforcement authorities had taken every precaution recommended by the Secret Service, and then some. That morning the paid ad seemed destined only to make the laughs that much louder when Lyndon Johnson delivered his closing line at the gala fund-raising dinner scheduled for Friday evening in Austin. “And thank God, Mr. President,” Johnson reportedly intended to say, before pausing for effect, “that you came out of Dallas alive.”
At 11:23 a.m. the president and Mrs. Kennedy board the specially designed Boeing 707 popularly known as Air Force One for the short hop from Fort Worth to Dallas.
Among the hundreds of people in Dealey Plaza, one of the eye- and ear-witnesses who will be closest to the assassination is Claudia “Lady Bird” Johnson, wife of the vice president. She is riding, along with her husband and a tight-lipped Senator Yarborough, in a Lincoln Continental convertible just behind the “Queen Mary,” an armored 1955 Cadillac convertible brimming with eight Secret Service agents and hidden automatic weapons. Just ahead of the Queen Mary, as the motorcade wends its way through downtown Dallas, is the president’s limousine. Though Mrs. Johnson does not capture every detail, her account stands out because she tape-recorded it while her memory was still fresh and relatively untainted.
It all began so beautifully. After a drizzle in the morning, the sun came out bright and beautiful. We were going into Dallas. In the lead car [were] President and Mrs. Kennedy, John and Nellie [Connally], and then a Secret Service car full of men, and then our car, with Lyndon and me, and Senator Yarborough. The streets were lined with people—lots and lots of children, all smiling—placards, confetti, people waving from windows. One last, happy moment I had was looking up and seeing Mary Griffith leaning out of a window, waving at me.
Then almost at the edge of town, on our way to the Trade Mart, where we were going to have the luncheon, we were rounding a curve, going down a hill [when] suddenly, there was a sharp, loud report . . . a shot. It seemed to me to come from the right, above my shoulder, from a building. Then one moment [passed], and then two more shots in rapid succession.
There’d been such a gala air that I thought it must be firecrackers, or some sort of celebration. But then, in the lead car, the Secret Servicemen were suddenly down. I heard over the radio system, “Let’s get out of here!” And our Secret Service man who was with us—Rufe Youngblood, I believe it was—vaulted over the front seat on top of Lyndon, threw him to the floor, and said, “Get down!”
Senator Yarborough and I ducked our heads. The cars accelerated terrifically fast—faster and faster. Then suddenly, they put on the brakes so hard that I wondered if they were gonna make it as they wheeled left around a corner. We pulled up to a building. I looked up and saw it said, “Hospital.” Only then did I believe that this might be what it was. Yarborough kept on saying in an excited voice, “Have they
shot the president? Have they shot the president?” I said something like, “No . . . [it] can’t be.”
As we ground to a halt—we were still the third car—the Secret Servicemen began to pull, lead, guide . . . hustle us out. I cast one last look back over my shoulder and saw a bundle of pink, just like a drift of blossoms, lying in the back seat. I think it was Mrs. Kennedy . . . lying over the president’s body.
They led us to the right, to the left, onward into a quiet room in the hospital, a very small room. It was lined with white sheets, I believe. People came and went: Kenny O’Donnell, Congressman [Homer] Thornberry, Congressman Jack Brooks. Always there was Rufe right there, [along with Secret Servicemen] Emory Roberts, Jerry Kivett, Lem Johns, [and] Woody Taylor.It is standard practice for the Air Force One crew to monitor the signals that keep the traveling White House in contact with the real one in Washington at all times, courtesy of the White House Communications Agency (WHCA, or “Whakka”) and the unrivaled virtuosity of Army Signal Corps operators. Secret Service headquarters, the State Department, and the Pentagon’s National Military Command Center are also kept in this communications loop. As Air Force One’s pilot, Colonel James Swindal, eavesdrops on the Secret Service agents’ chatter, he is pleased to hear that Dallas seems to be redeeming itself after the ugliness of the Stevenson visit. The crowds greeting the motorcade are unexpectedly large and friendly, with nary a hostile placard in sight.
Seconds after 12:30 p.m. Swindal hears a shout explode on Charlie frequency—and then another. His body tenses up, and he recognizes the voice of Roy Kellerman, head of the Secret Service detail, who is riding in the front passenger seat of the president’s limousine. Swindal can only make out one injunction from Kellerman—dagger cover volunteer!—before the radio becomes a cacophony of screeching voices. Then it falls silent.
Something has clearly gone wrong, but Swindal has no idea what. dagger is the code name for Rufus Youngblood, and volunteer is Lyndon Johnson. Has someone thrown an egg at the vice president? Perhaps a riot has broken out along the motorcade route. While Swindal is mulling over the possibilities, WHCA patches a telephone call from Parkland Memorial Hospital into Special Air Missions (SAM) 26000 (the radio designation for Air Force One when it is not airborne). It is Brigadier General Godfrey McHugh, the president’s air force aide, with new, cryptic orders. Refuel the airplane instantly and file a flight plan to return to Andrews Air Force Base (AFB) near Washington immediately. General McHugh does not bother to explain, but since Air Force One is involved, Swindal now knows that whatever happened concerns the president. Minutes later the news is heard over the television set aboard SAM 26000. The president has been shot!
The radio traffic is now anything but routine. While trained operators generally maintain a brisk demeanor betraying nothing, other voices quaver and speak haltingly, still reeling from the news. Tongues are tied, and there is an undertone of apprehension in nearly every conversation. The precaution of using code names instead of real names, and the protocol of distinguishing between Air Force One and SAM 26000, are cast aside more often than invoked.A White House Diary Lady Bird Johnsonhttp://www.pbs.org/l...assination.htmlThe Flying White House: The Story of Air Force One J.F. terHorst and Ralph Albertazzie (New York Coward McCann & Geoghegan 1979)http://www.amazon.co...ref=pd_sxp_f_pthttp://www.nytimes.c...lbertazzie.html
Ralph Dayton Albertazzie was fascinated by airplanes since his childhood in Morgantown, W.Va., where he often went to the airport to watch planes and “bum” rides. He was born on July 16, 1923, in Cassville, a small town near Morgantown, where his father was a coal mine superintendent. He won a football scholarship to West Virginia University, where he studied engineering before joining the Army Air Corps in 1943. As a second lieutenant, he served as a B-17 and B-29 bomber instructor until his discharge in 1945.
The future colonel then bought a flying school in Morgantown, which he operated until 1951, when he was recalled to serve in the Air Force during the Korean War. He flew 17 combat missions and 75 combat support missions in the Vietnam War, receiving the Bronze Star and two Air Medals.
Colonel Albertazzie married his high school sweetheart, Carol Wilson, in 1942. She died in 1999. He is survived by two daughters, Sally Albertazzie and Lynette Crosby, and two grandchildren.
After retiring from the Air Force in 1974, he served as West Virginia’s commerce secretary in the administration of Gov. Arch A. Moore Jr. He later owned a truck stop along Interstate 81 and a local radio station. In 1989, with David Fisher, he wrote “Hostage One,” a novel about a plot to kidnap the president and transport him to Libya.
In “The Flying White House,” writing in the third person, Colonel Albertazzie recounted a dramatic moment on Aug. 9, 1974, the day Nixon resigned. After Mr. Ford was sworn in as president, the plane had to be redesignated as SAM 27000, indicating no president was on board.
“Air Force One was 39,000 feet over a point 13 miles southwest of Jefferson City, Missouri,” he wrote. “The time was 3 minutes and 25 seconds past noon. Albertazzie picked up his microphone and spoke to ground control: ‘Kansas City, this was Air Force One. Will you change our call sign to SAM 27000?’
Back came the reply: ‘Roger, SAM 27000. Good luck to the President.’
“ ‘Roger, 27000.’ ”
This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:
Correction: August 19, 2011
An obituary on Wednesday about Ralph D. Albertazzie, the pilot of Air Force One during the Nixon administration, referred imprecisely to one mission he flew. In July 1971 he flew Henry A. Kissinger to Pakistan and another pilot secretly flew Mr. Kissinger on another plane from there to China, where he discussed plans for President Richard M. Nixon’s trip there. Mr. Albertazzie did not “take Mr. Kissinger to China” on that mission, nor did he fly President Nixon there four months later. (He did fly Mr. Kissinger to China in October of that year, then flew Nixon there four months after that.) The obituary also referred incorrectly to “The Flying White House,” the book Mr. Albertazzie wrote with J. F. terHorst. In that book Mr. Albertazzie wrote about himself in the third person, not the second.