EVIDENCE FOR HARVEY AND LEE (Please debate the specifics right here. Don't just claim someone else has debunked it!)

[Jim Hargrove]

On 6/4/2021 at 12:06 AM, John Butler said:

There is information at the Harvey and Lee site saying that Lee was discharged in March, 1959. This implies he may have entered the Marines in March, 1956 or not too much later with a 3-year enlistment or he could have obtained a 90 day early out to attend a school, Albert Schweitzer in Switzerland. Projecting forward from March 19, 1959, we have June, 1959. It could be that Lee Oswald entered the Marines in June, 1956 or earlier. This date conflicts with working at Tujaques in 1956. It also conflicts with the next entry stating that Lee Oswald was at Camp LeJeune in the Summer of 1956 with Steven R. Landesberg.

John B....

Megathanks for the detailed post.

Let's start at the beginning....

John A wrote....

Quote

Two weeks later, on November 15, he arrived in San Francisco and took military leave. Russian speaking HARVEY, at the Marine Corps base in Santa Ana, CA. had now replaced LEE, and in less than a year would "defect" to the Soviet Union as a CIA trained spy. LEE Oswald was briefly assigned to the Marine Corp jet base in El Toro, CA. and would be discharged in March, 1959.

and....

Quote

After his leave LEE Oswald was stationed at the Marine Corps jet base in El Toro, CA (5000 Marines). According to Major William P. Gorsky, Assistant Provost Marhsall at the Marine Corps Air Station at El Toro, LEE Harvey Oswald was discharged from the Marines in March, 1959. LEE OSWALD DISCHARGED FROM THE MARINES IN MARCH, 1959 IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT, because HARVEY Oswald remained at the Marine Corps base in Santa Ana, CA and was not discharged from the Marine Corps until Sept. 11, 1959.

He's basing the above on the following doc.  Do you think we are reading this correctly?

[Jim Hargrove]

On 5/29/2021 at 9:11 AM, John Kowalski said:

Jim:

Glad to see that you are back on the forum. Looking forward to more research from John Armstrong.

 

John,

Was saddened to read your PM.  My first thought is that we should probably just leave her alone.  Do you think any more attempted contacts would be productive?

[Jim Hargrove]

On 6/8/2021 at 9:59 AM, David Josephs said:

Hi Chris....

The only "Margaret" versus "Marguerite" is Keating whose family was meshed with the Oswald's...
The thought for some time was that maybe Keating becomes Marguerite yet I don't think that had any legs...

When Married to Ekdahl and then divorced, she supposedly requested to restore OSWALD back....  yet
the records over those next few years are a jumble going from Ekdahl to Oswald on a variety of different land documents.  I believe Ekdahl and EBASCO/GE was very involved in the fight for control of Electricity in growing Dallas-Ft Worth...  Ekdahl was in NY when Marge and little Harvey were there... FWIW

That our CDR is in the Civil Air Patrol in New Orleans is too much of a coincidence (Nice find!)

Pull one thread and 9 take it's place...  I need to read thru the thread as it's been a while...

Take care

DJ

DJ....

Good to see you here again!  Anything new?

[John Butler]

6 hours ago, Jim Hargrove said:

John B....

Megathanks for the detailed post.

Let's start at the beginning....

John A wrote....

and....

He's basing the above on the following doc.  Do you think we are reading this correctly?

 

That's exactly what this document says.  Lee Harvey Oswald discharged in March, 1959.  That seems to be a legit FBI doc.  If it isn't then that's a piece of disinformation.  

The records, photos, and any information on Lee Oswald has been suppressed.  They have been destroyed or melded with the records and photos of Harvey Oswald from a baby to their adult life. 

Lets take the Sgt. Rannsberger incident and the Steve Landesburg incident.  Rannsberger gives us the notion that PFC Oswald was in California during the fall of 1956 when Harvey Oswald joins the Marines.  If I am recalling correctly it took 6 months to become a PFC.  Harvey made it in 8 months.  Rannsberger clearly gives one the notion that Lee Oswald was in the service before Harvey.  This is also backed up by Steve Landesberg saying he was with Oswald in the summer of 1956 at Parris Island NC.

Not only was Lee Oswald information removed from the records in California in March, 1959.  Information from his early Marine Career in North Carolina and I believe Camp Lejeune in South Carolina was suppressed and hidden.  This may have been taken by the ONI, Oswald's first home in intelligence.  I'm not to sure of SC since I am working off another computer with out resort to my notes.  

After Lee Oswald is discharged in March, 1959, he enters a dark hole with very few light spots and disappears.  After March the first record of him is the Steenberger testimony given to the HSCA.  She said she was on a flight with Lee Harvey Oswald in mid October, 1959.  Harvey was already in Finland or Russia by this time.

Lee's dark hole has a couple of light spots.  According to David Joseph's timeline he appears to have visited a Mrs. Glady Davis in Miami in August 17, 1959.  Another is debatable as far as I am concerned.  This is the hunting trip with Brother Robert in Sep., 1959.  The photo says Feb., 1958.  Lee's in Japan at that time.  Harvey's in New Orleans AWOL from the Marines working at Pfisterer.

There is another reference for Lee Oswald in Oct., 1960.  This is a meeting in a safe house in Miami.  A Mr. Fithian said he was there and Marita Lorenz said yes to that.  The question is which Oswald was that?  It is believed to be Lee since Harvey is in Russia.  There is no information or description to determine who's who at the safe house.   

Then there is more darkness until Jan, 1961 when an Oswald visits the Bolton Ford Dealership in New Orleans.  I say an Oswald because the description given fits Harvey rather than Lee.  Lee Oswald could have been doing things in Russia.  There is no proof that he was not there in from Oct., 1959 to Jan, 1961.  There is no proof that he was anywhere during that period.  He could have been in Russia or some other place.  Traveling around Europe sending post cards to his buds as Steve Landesberg (student) said.

I do believe If Lee Oswald was there he was switched out before Marina was met in March 1961.  Marina describes a Russian speaking Oswald she took to be a Baltic native Russian.  I don't think either Lee or Harvey could have fooled the KGB on their language abilities.  However, they could have fooled the Russians with their close resemblance.  If there was a switch out it went unnoticed.  Or did it?  Did Marina know both Lee and Harvey in Russia and later in the US.  Her price for getting to the US would be to fake a betrayal of the KGB.  Was she a double or triple spy.

I can hear my critic warming up to this.  Just calm down fellas this is mostly speculation.  There are facts here.  But, the speculation is in how you read them.

What I am saying is that more information is needed to nail down some of the questions I have raised about the two Oswalds and where they really were at during this questionable time.

Edited June 10, 2021 by John Butler

[John Kowalski]

15 hours ago, Jim Hargrove said:

Do you think any more attempted contacts would be productive?

The problem with approaching her is getting by the woman who lives with her, who I believe is her grand-daughter or some other relative of hers. Contacted her twice after speaking to her on the phone and both times she would not let me speak to her. Was she doing this on her own accord I do not know. If she was then another attempt at contacting her may well be worth it.

Another attempt could be fruitful if we could find someone who knows Tina Tippit. This person would be better able to convince her to release her notes to us. If we could find someone who lives near by who would be willingly to speak to her on our behalf, would be our best chance to get her to open up to us.

What does John Armstrong think about this? He has a lot experience locating and interviewing people. Would he know how to locate people who are connected to her? I mentioned John's book to her, maybe he can contact her and make an impression on her because he wrote a book. 

He deceased husband had a lot of entertainment contacts. If we can find someone with an entertainment background a connection may be established.

 

 

 

[John Butler]

John,

Keep up the good work.

Edited June 10, 2021 by John Butler

[John Butler]

 

The Bolton Ford Incident from Harvey and Lee site:

The following information identifies a Lee Oswald and Joseph More as two people who wanted to buy 10 trucks.

“On January 20, 1961, while Harvey Oswald was in Minsk, two men visited the Bolton Ford dealership in New Orleans. They spoke with Assistant Manager Oscar Deslatte and said they were interested in purchasing 10 Ford Econoline Trucks. As one of the men discussed the purchase with Deslatte the other man, who identified himself as Joseph Moore, made a list of the equipment they desired on the trucks.

Deslatte went to his boss, truck manager Fred Sewell, and told him about the two men who wanted to purchase trucks and said they represented the "Free Democrats of Cuba or some such organization." Sewell told Deslatte to give the men a bid of $75 over their cost for the trucks. Deslatte and Sewell returned to Deslatte's desk and wrote out a bid form to Joseph Moore. As Deslatte was filling out the bid form, Joseph Moore and the other man began talking to both Deslatte and Sewell.42

When Moore saw that Deslatte had written his name on the bid form he asked that the name be changed to "Friends of Democratic Cuba." Moore's friend looked· at the form and said, "By the way, you'd better put my name down there because I'm the man handling the money." When Deslatte asked, "What's your name?" the man replied, "Lee Oswald."61-04”

And,

“Sewell described Lee Oswald as, "5-foot-6 or 5-foot-7, thin, about 140 pounds, and thought he needed a meal and a haircut. He recalled that Oswald was clean but "wasn't well dressed and he wasn't shabby." This may not describe Harvey.  Harvey always kept his hair neatly trimmed and well groomed to hide his receding hairline.  This is evident in photos with the exception of photos at the DPD station.

Sewell described the second man, who identified himself as Joseph Moore as, "Kind of heavy-set ..... not overly, but well built ..... he was curly haired ..... he had a scar over his left eye ..... olive complexioned and seemed to be educated ..... he had a Cuban accent and looked like a Cuban."”

This description fits Harvey Oswald rather than Lee.  There are a couple of possibilities here.  It was Harvey due to the description.  It was not Harvey, but someone else who fit Harvey’s description such as Billy Seymour.  Joseph Moore had a Cuban or Latin description.

However:

The FBI didn't seem interested in Deslatte's tale, especially since Deslatte could not identify a photograph of Lee Harvey Oswald an agent showed him on 11/25/63, and he was unable to give a good description of either man to the FBI. He told the Bureau that he remembered the incident because of the organization's name, not the name "Oswald." 8  "Deslatte called the FBI after the President was assassinated and after conferring with Manager Fred Sewell about "those two guys who was in here from Cuba trying to get some buses cheap."9

“Of course it makes perfect sense that Deslatte didn't think the photograph of Oswald was either "Joseph Moore" or the other man who said he was "Oswald" if the real Oswald was not in New Orleans in 1961 but in the Soviet Union.”

Even though this may have been Lee Oswald, or an Oswald double, and Harvey was in Russia, it still raises questions about the two.  This event is directly related to the folks that were running the Harvey and Lee team.

From another site:

JFK Lancer: 

The Assassination Chronicles Vol. 1, Issue 4 December 1995

The Bolton Ford Dealership Story

by Steve N. Bochan

“The official documentation on the so-called Bolton Ford Dealership episode contains a little research "gem" in the tenth volume of the HSCA hearings:  it is the name of Gerard F. Tujague. Remember this name.”

There is also another “gem” with this name mentioned and that is:

“W. Guy Banister, ex-FBI man who was once recommended by Hoover
while he headed the Chicago FBI Office, was on the Board of Directors for
this newly-formed organization.”

These two were listed as board members on a newly formed organization called FRIENDS OF DEMOCRATIC CUBA.  This organization was formed on January 6, 1961.  And, Oswald and Moore made their visit on January 20, 1961 to Bolton Ford.

FWIW, I speculate that the Russian Oswald, the Harvey who met Marina, screwed up somehow or another in the US or Russia and demonstrated unreliability.  And, by this time it was decided he would be used in a terminal fashion.  This doesn’t mean that this was related to the JFKA.  That may have developed later. 

I believe he was to be setup and eliminated due to what he knew about the Oswald Project, Oswalds in New York, Russian defection, the KGB, CIA involvement, and the U2 downed/Eisenhower/Khruschchev summit meeting.  He must have displayed some signs of unreliability.  I base this on his AWOL in New Orleans in 1958.  He could have gone over to the Russians in more than a play acting spy role.

The likely cabal of Guy Bannister, Gerald Tujague, Clay Shaw, David Ferrie, and others would be involved.  They knew this Oswald and the other.  Lee would eventually be used in the framing of Harvey.  Over time this became the JFKA.  And, that is speculation based on the reading of the facts presented.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited June 10, 2021 by John Butler

[Karl Kinaski]

Quote H&L: 

"NOTE: But Oswald was not staying at the Murret's and his whereabouts and activities 
fr om April 24-29 are unknown. "  

Close quote.

 

Maybe  Armstrong should update his book a little bit. 

Quote, ME AND LEE by Judyth Vary Baker:

Friday, April 26, 1963

On the fourth day I (Judyth Vary Baker in NOLA))  made the long bus trip once again to Royal Castle for another two-hour  dose  of  stress  and  chaos. (...)  
Back at the YWCA I changed into a dress and high heels for a visit to Ochsner  Clinic,  and  headed  for  the  post  office  once  again,  carrying  the letter  I’d  been  writing  over  the  past  several  days.  At  the  post  office,  I finished the letter at a side counter, addressed it, then got into the line where General  Delivery  service  was  offered.  Under  my  arm  was  a  rolled-up newspaper with the “Jaryo” ad with its red lipstick kiss circling the ad — because  Robert’s  eyes  had  read  those  very  same  words  by  now!  Having
been up since 5:00 A.M., I felt wilted. I was only vaguely aware of a man standing in line behind me.
When it was my turn at the counter I asked the clerk if a letter for “Judy Vary” had arrived from Fort Walton Beach, Florida, from Robert A. Baker.
The postman checked but found nothing. Still hopeful, I inquired, “Would you please see if a letter for a “‘Mr. Rourke’ might be there, from Robert A. Baker?” But the clerk said that only Mr. Rourke would be allowed to pick up Mr. Rourke’s mail, not Judy Vary.
”Do you have any ID with you?” the clerk asked. I got out my Royal Castle pay stub. “You can call Royal Castle about who I am,” I said.
“No, ma’am,” the postman said. “Can’t do that. I’d need something that says Mr. Rourke will let you pick up his mail for him.”
Remembering I had Robert’s first letter with me, I opened my purse and rummaged around until I found it. “How many letters come here to General
Delivery from Fort Walton Beach?” I asked. “And look, right here,”  as  I waggled the letter under the clerk’s nose, “It says I should put Mr. Rourke’s
name on the envelope.”
The clerk agreed to look for something from “Rourke.” As I waited I turned  and  glanced  up  at  the  young  man  standing  in  line  behind  me.  He offered a friendly smile. How clean-cut he looked! The clerk returned to tell me that there was nothing for Mr. Rourke either. Disappointed, I sighed and
bought a stamp. Distracted by the feelings that swamped me, I handed the letter to the postman, and as I did, the newspaper under my arm fell to the
floor. The young man behind me picked up the newspaper, glanced at the lipstick-kiss,  then  handed  it  to  me.  As  I  took  it,  I  gave  him  my  prettiest
smile.
“Karashaw, Tovarisch,” I said to him (Loosely, “Thanks, Comrade.” in Russian).  I  had  frequently  used  my  limited  Russian  as  an  ice-breaker  at
college. It was fun, and since most Americans were not familiar with the sound  of  Russian,  it  generally  started  a  conversation.  It  also  gave  me  an
excuse to keep up my Russian skills so they wouldn’t slip away, but I admit there was more going on. I was mad at Robert for not writing. ConsequentlyI was flirting with this clean-cut young man. Yes, there are other men in the world, and I’m not married yet!
I  was  shocked  when  the  young  man  leaned  close  to  me  and  said,  in perfect Russian, “It’s not good to speak Russian in New Orleans.”
“But  I  like  to  speak  Russian,”  I  protested  in  Russian,  as  politely  as  I could.  As  I  turned  to  leave  the  building,  the  young  man  said,  “Please!
Wait!” — once more in Russian.
“Okay,” I said to him in English, unable  to  recall  the  Russian  phrase.  The  young  man went to the counter and inquired about a letter for Lee H. Oswald.
When we left together, he at first tried to  indulge  me  by  speaking  only  Russian, but his fluency was far more advanced than mine. So we settled into English.
“You  must  be  new  in  town.  I  just  got into town myself,” he said after he offered to  walk  me  home.  “I  was  born  in  New Orleans and lived here as a child, but I’ve been away for nearly ten years. I’m staying at  the  YMCA  right  now,  until  my  family
gets into town.”
I asked him where he learned to speak Russian  so  well,  and  he  explained  that  he had lived there for several years.
I  told  him  about  my  interest  in  all things Russian, and how I read Russian literature and listened to Russian music,  like  Rimsky-Korsakov.  Russia  was  tops  on  the  list  of  countries  I wished to visit. I told Lee how my family called me “Juduffski.”
He confirmed his interest in Russia’s classical culture and asked me if I had  read  Dostoevsky’s  The  Idiot.  It  was  one  of  my  favorites,  and  I  had written  a  poem  about  Prince  Myshkin,  the  title  character.  I  recited  it  for him. As soon as I finished, he translated it for me into melodious Russian. I was impressed. Not only did he know the language, he knew the culture.
“I notice that you have no southern accent,” he remarked. Nor did he, I observed  back.  That’s  when  I  noticed  a  thick  wedding  band  on  his  righthand  and  remembered  that  both  Russians  and  Hungarians  wore  their wedding rings on their right hands.
Curious  as  usual,  I  observed  him  as  we  walked.  Lee  Oswald  was slender, but well built; the type of man who would never get fat. He had intense,  blue-gray  eyes  and  fine  wavy  brown  hair,  with  a  precise  way  of carrying  himself.  As  he  turned  toward  me  again,  I  saw  the  neckline  of  a
clean  white  undershirt  under  his  worn,  but  spotless,  khaki  shirt  which created a sort of military air about him.
His  posture  was  erect,  his  head  held  high.  He  took  his  place  on  the curbside  to  shield  me  from  the  traffic  like  a  gentleman.  When  my  hand
touched  his  accidentally,  he  moved  slightly  away.  What  a  sweetheart,  I thought, and what a nice contrast to other men.
“So what does the ‘H’ in your name stand for?” I asked.
“Henry,” he joked. “Hogan. Herkimer. Horace. Guess,” he teased.
“Hoover,” I replied with bluster.
“That would be even worse!” he laughed. “My middle name is Harvey.
I don’t particularly like it. My Russian friends called me Alek, because Lee sounded weird to them. And half the time, when I wrote it people misread it
as “Henry,” so I started using “H.” I have calculated that will save me many hours during my life by avoiding writing Harvey.”
We continued to walk. After several blocks, I began to question my shoe selection.  Who  invented  high  heels  in  the  first  place,  and  why  would  an
otherwise  intelligent  woman  wear  them?  Finally,  we  found  a  bench  in  a shaded area near the YWCA and sat down. I noticed a U.S. Marine Corps
ring  on  his  left  hand.  “Well,  you’re  a  Marine,  as  well  as  married,”  I commented.
“You’re so observant,” Mr. Oswald replied.
“I am terrible at remembering faces,” I admitted. “And I get lost going around a corner, but I am good at noticing odd little things that other people
don’t.”
“I  won’t  forget  your  face,  because  you  look  like  my  wife.  Are  you married?” he asked.
“Almost. In a few days, if he comes. And if I still want to marry him,” I said, still miffed about not getting a letter.
“If he comes? If you still want to marry him?” he mocked.“I love Robert.” I insisted. “But if he doesn’t show up, I’ll survive.”
“Love — unto the death!” he responded with grand sarcasm.
I  got  his  point.  His  directness  was  penetrating,  but  his  wit  was disarming. I wanted him to know more about me. So I told him I was in New Orleans to do cancer research. Dr. Ochsner himself had invited me, but I would be working with Dr. Mary Sherman, who ran a cancer laboratory at his  hospital.  I  also  said  this  to  show  Mr.  Oswald  that  I  had  important
contacts in town, just in case he wasn’t as nice as he seemed. He surprised me  once  again  by  saying  that  his  friend  Dr.  Ferrie  had  mentioned  Dr. Sherman’s name just the night before. “She’s famous,” I said proudly, while calculating  the  mathematical  odds  of  Lee’s  hearing  her  name  only yesterday, after being out of town for nearly a decade.
Then Lee demonstrated some of his own powers of observation. He said he had noticed the Royal Castle check stub when we were in at the post office. “So why is a cancer researcher working as a waitress in a fast-food restaurant?” he queried.
It was a fair question, so I answered it by explaining my predicament.
We  sat  on  the  park  bench  and  continued  to  talk  for  the  next  hour.  We discussed a variety of subjects from literature to politics. We had both read
Aldous Huxley’s utopian nightmare in Brave New World and Lee contrasted it to George Orwell’s dark view of the future in 1984. I was surprised at how well read he was, and how adroitly he navigated the maze of political theory. We even discussed Bertrand Russell, the British mathematician who became  a  vocal  anti-war  activist,  championed  nuclear  disarmament,
criticized Germany for its fascism, the Soviet Union for its totalitarianism and  America  for  its  international  military  adventures.  I  told  Lee  I  had received a telegram from Russell, and that my father had torn it up because he considered him a Communist.4
Lee Oswald voiced his surprise at my Socialist ideals, which he gently juxtaposed to my anti-Communist attitudes. We were now in his territory.
He was the only person I had ever spoken to who had actually lived in a Communist  country.  It  was  a  subject  he  could  articulate  skillfully  and without prejudice. I admired the clarity of his responses and how carefully he offered me new ideas. Frankly, I was amazed at how one hour of sitting on a park bench in New Orleans had suddenly opened my eyes to the riverof  thoughts  flowing  around  the  world.  I  had  never  had  this  sort  of conversation  with  Robert  or  anyone  else.  I  pondered  the  irony  of  this chance encounter at a post office where I was desperately awaiting a letter from my fiancé, then suddenly became fascinated by a total stranger who
happened to be standing in line behind me!
As  he  spoke,  I  got  a  good  look  at  his  blue-gray  eyes.  A  shame  he’s married,  I  thought,  then  realized  what  I  was  thinking  and  my  Catholic
upbringing kicked in. Guilt swelled up within me.
Lee must have sensed my sudden mood shift, because he said: “My wife is in Texas because, unfortunately, we are not getting along very well right
now.” His sorrowful words rang true. I did not think he was trying to tell me that he might be available for romance if I was interested. It was more like a
friend sharing a burden. Then Lee suddenly changed subjects and asked me if I played chess.
Yes I did, and considered myself quite good at it. Lee said he had never met an American girl who liked chess, wrote poetry, loved Russian literature,
and had even learned to speak some Russian.
“I’d  like  to  play  you  at  chess  sometime,”  he  proposed,  adding,  “Dr. Ferrie  has  a  chess  set  we  can  use.  He’s  involved  in  cancer  research
himself,” he remarked. “I think you two should meet.” Lee ended by saying he  would  definitely  call  Dr.  Ferrie  right  away  and  stood  up  to  leave.  He
went over to pick up a shirt and told me that, if I needed help with anything, I could leave a message for him at the YMCA.
As we parted, Lee gave me a squeeze of the arm, a boyish smile, and then walked away. I just stood there daydreaming. I loved the way he talked and walked. And those eyes! And how he spoke Russian. The way he let me  be  myself.  .  . (...)
Finally the long, tangled day ended and we returned to the Y. As I lay in my  bed  waiting  for  sleep  to  overtake  me  I  pondered  the  events.  New
Orleans was, indeed, a new experience. What to make of this mysterious Mr.  Oswald?  What  an  interesting  man!  So  how  does  such  a  well-read intellectual  emerge  from  this  decadent  French  colony,  speaking  fluent Russian? And why was he returning to this corrupt sin-sick city with his young family after years of international travel?

End of Friday, April 26, 1963

Close quote ME AND LEE, by Judyth Vary Baker

 

 

 

 

 

Edited June 27, 2021 by Karl Kinaski

[Karl Kinaski]

 

Quote H&L:

" But Oswald was not staying at the Murret's and his whereabouts and activities 
from April 24-29 are unknown. "  

Close quote.

 

Excerpts of ME AND LEE by Judyth Vary Baker

 

— CHAPTER 7 —

THE FAVOR

Saturday, April 27, 1963

 

The next morning at 6:00 A.M. I boarded the bus in downtown New Orleans and headed to the Royal Castle half way out to the airport in Jefferson Parish. Soon, the now-familiar onslaught of men demanding breakfast began and I was taking orders, flipping burgers, scrambling eggs and squeezing oranges for a gallery of gulping Adam’s apples.

These were laborers who needed their breakfast fast, before heading out for a day of exhausting work, like building roads or laying brick. They were basically good men who worked hard. Their voices were loud and bold. They flirted with me and called me “honey,” “babe,” and “sweetie.” They forgave my unimpressive waitress skills and left tips anyway, mostly because they liked how I looked in that uniform and little apron. But the pace was frantic and the work exhausting.

(...)

As the breakfast crowd thinned out, Lee moved to a table and continued to read. I wiped off the counter, then the tables, cautiously moving in Lee’s direction so as not attract my boss’s attention.

(...)

Lee slowly put his book away. “Well, I contacted Dr. Ferrie,” he said. “He wants you to join him for lunch today. Maybe he can help. It’ll be alate lunch, because he was up all night.”

(…)

Lee said his mother was connected to the Mafia through various boyfriends over the years, one of which was Mar-cello’s driver (and bodyguard). She had also worked for a law firm that represented Marcello. Her sister Lillian had married Charles Murret, who had been with Marcello for years. In the early days, “Dutz,” as everybody called him, had been a boxer and union enforcer on the docks and had moved up in Marcello’s ranks. Now Dutz helped handle Marcello’s money, mostly from various gambling operations.

“I had to make a choice early on,” Lee told me. “Whether I was going to be one of Marcello’s soldiers, or be another kind of soldier and join the Marine Corps, like my brother. Either the world can be an influence on you,” he went on, “or you can be an influence on the world. I chose to stay out of Marcello’s world.”

(...)

Ferrie was brilliant, Lee assured me – and in addition to his considerable talents, he was a courageous man.

(...)

Lee said he had asked around about affordable rooms for me. He was looking for something in a safe area that would not require references or a security deposit. He’d be happy to take me to see some of them if I wanted. So, I decided to spend the day with Lee Oswald, looking for a place to live.We caught a bus back into town.

(...)

Next, Lee made a collect call to Dallas from a pay phone. I could overhear his side of the conversation from where I sat on the bench. After another call or two, Lee obtained an address, and we boarded the St. Charles streetcar.

(...)

Several blocks later, we got off the streetcar. Across the street stood a

stately home with gables and grand columns. Flanked by mossdraped oaktrees and emanating dignity, this charming Southern mansion was now a boarding house.

(…)

Then, a red-haired woman well past her prime came plodding down the hall in a rumpled dress and slippers, and opened the door. This was Mrs. Webber.  Lee introduced me as “Mrs. Baker,” adding, “Mr. P sent us.” That was what she needed to know. She invited us inside.

(...)

Mrs. Webber said her parlor rented for $30 a month. I was surprised because this was cheaper than my dormitory room at the YWCA. Not only was it a private room, it had a rosewood wardrobe for my clothes. Mr

(...)

We (Lee and Judyth Baker) boarded a streetcar and transferred to a bus, which took us to his uncle’s house in Lakeview just off Canal Boulevard near City Park. On the way Lee said he didn’t want his aunt and uncle to see me, since they’d soon learn of his rocky marriage and might jump to conclusions, so he wanted me to wait outside.7 As we rode, Lee talked about his efforts to locate his father’s grave. His mother had taken him to the grave site once, but he was too young to remember much detail. His Oswald relatives certainly knew where it was, but they were upset that Lee’s name (and consequently theirs) had been plastered all over the newspapers announcing his so-called defection to the Soviet Union. Therefore, Lee was now estranged from most of the Oswald clan, and they might not be willing to help him find the grave.

But the Murrets were different. They were connected to his mother’s family. For them family trumped politics, and Lee was family. Lee said that he had lived with the Murrets as a child when his mother was having financial problems. Now that Lee had returned to New Orleans, the Murrets had invited him to move in with them again until he could find an apartment for himself and his family.

When we reached the Murrets’ neighborhood, we got off the bus and walked a block or two. As we approached their house, he sat me down on the steps in front of a neighbor’s place, where I waited and watched the children play.

(...)

Then Lee emerged at a quick pace. As soon as he reached me, he smiled and said, “Dutz gave me two hundred dollars for helping him out, so you can forget about the ten I lent you.”

(...)

We left Dutz’s house, got on another bus and headed to a restaurant called the Kopper Kitchen, where we were to meet Dr. Ferrie. As we entered the restaurant, I could hear my stomach rumble.

(...)

“I think Dave might have cancer, himself,” Lee said, referring to Dr. Ferrie. “Maybe that’s why he’s working with Dr. Sherman.” Ferrie’s cancer experiments had begun years earlier in a lab he set up in a big house out by the airport. Ferrie sometimes used himself as a guinea pig, and told Lee thathe blamed his embarrassing hair loss on the chemicals he was using in his experiments.

“Dr. Ferrie might let you do some research of your own with his cancer specimens,” Lee said. “He might even pay you to help keep his lab going.” “Does he need an assistant?” I asked. “Very much so,” Lee replied. “They’ve requested help.” I had to admit that slaving away at Royal Castle for a dollar an hour had lost its charm, and the thought of getting paid to do laboratory work was appealing. “Well, that could be me,” I said, “but I’ll be in Mary Sherman’s bone lab at Ochsner’s clinic.”  “Maybe you’re supposed to be working in both places,”

(...)

Dr. Ferrie finally arrived. He was wearing an airline captain’s cap and jacket, with shabby trousers and scuffed shoes.

(…)

I noticed he was wearing a ring made from an Eastern Airlines pin. So Dr. Ferrie was also Captain Ferrie.

(...)

I indeed knew my way around a medical lab. “I’d be happy to get any equipment or supplies you might need,” he said, “since I hear you’ll be staying in town for awhile. I have connections.” Having heard from Lee that Dr. Ferrie knew Dr. Sherman, I replied that I planned to enter Tulane Medical School in the fall.

(...)

He (Ferrie) then looked around to see who might hear him, and began talking about Dr. Sherman, whom he referred to as “Dr. Mary” to keep her last name out of the conversation. “Of course,” he went on, “the work Dr. Mary and I do is confidential,  

(...)

I promised I would be careful with the information. Then Dr. Ferrie explained that their cancer project was getting results faster than typical research projects, because they did not have to do all the paperwork, and all of this was under the direction of the great man himself, Dr. Alton Ochsner.

(...)

Dr. Ferrie said Dr. Ochsner knew how to get things done. He had access to anything needed and avoided red tape by bringing in some of the materials himself from Latin America. Ferrie described Ochsner’s Latin American connections in more detail, saying that he was the on-call physician for many Latin American leaders. He kept their secrets and got rewarded in return, including big donations to his Clinic. As a result, Ochsner had his own unregulated flow of funds and supplies for every possible kind of cancer research, with no oversight. “We’re using various chemicals, in combination with radiation, to see what happens with fast-growing cancers,” Ferrie said. “We’re using it to mutate monkey viruses, too.” Mutating monkey viruses! Radiation! Fast growing cancers! “That’s exactly what I’ve been trained to handle,” I commented, noting how conveniently my skill set just happened to match their research. “I was told you were,” Dr. Ferrie said.(...)Lee and I got into Dr. Ferrie’s old car and he drove us to the YWCA, where I spent about twenty minutes getting the last few things I had left behind

(…)

We finally reached Ferrie’s house and entered through a back door, which led to a staircase that took us to the second floor. This was the entrance that Ferrie’s friends always used. Now barefoot and dressed in casual clothes, he met us at the screen door. He was busy cleaning up his kitchen for a party to be held the next night. It was a spectacular mess.

Ferrie showed us around his apartment, which was full of his mother’s old-fashioned furniture, plus a hodgepodge of junk reminiscent of a garage sale. The lab, such as it was, resided on utility carts located to the side of the large kitchen. There was distilled water, propane gas, and a fume vent. Several cages of mice and rats sat on the counter beside the sink.17 There was denatured alcohol and acetone for clean up.

(...)

Ferrie explained that most of the mice were kept nearby, where they lived under standardized conditions. They were brought over for the experiments with other equipment, which came and went. Except for the microscopes and some test tubes, the true nature of the place would be unnoticed by untrained eyes. The mini-centrifuge, for example, was a sophisticated little piece of equipment, but to the layman it was just a small metal globe with some holes in it. The blender was a normal kitchen item, and would not be seen as a device for macerating excised tumors. The refrigerator held a collection of mouse tumors that looked vaguely like hamburger meat. Upon seeing it, I decided that I would not be eating anything stored in Ferrie’s refrigerator.

(...)

He would have dropped them off at her apartment himself, but he did not like to be seen there. He pointed out that I could be used as a courier for the harvested tumors, since I could pass as a medical student visiting Dr. Sherman. I was asked to exercise caution, and avoid being seen by outsiders whenever possible, since gossip in New Orleans had a tendency to assume a sexual motive for just about everything, and secretive comings and goings might lead to rumors that Dr. Sherman was conducting a lesbian affair with a medical student.

(...)

It was now close to dawn, and Dave drove Lee and me home. He

invited us to attend his party on Sunday night, dangling the fact that Dr. Sherman would be there as bait. I was anxious to meet Dr. Sherman, so despite my concerns about Dave I reluctantly agreed. When we reached my boarding house, Lee walked me to the door and invited me to see the city with him after lunch the next day. I agreed. I caught a few hours sleep to prepare for another busy day in my new amazing life. But I was beginning to wonder what I was getting myself into.

 

Close quote

ME AND LEE, by Judyth Vary Baker

 

End of Saturday, April the 27^th 1963

 

Maybe Hargrove can tell us whether his Lee or his  Harvey was involved in that GET CASTRO WITH CANCER project? But wait. Armstrong confessed, quote H&L:

"But Oswald was not staying at the Murret's and his whereabouts and activities 
from April 24-29 are unknown. "  

Close quote.

 

 

 

Edited June 27, 2021 by Karl Kinaski

[John Butler]

On 6/11/2021 at 8:58 AM, Karl Kinaski said:

What to make of this mysterious
Mr.  Oswald?  What  an  interesting  man!  So  how  does  such  a  well-read
intellectual  emerge  from  this  decadent  French  colony,  speaking  fluent
Russian? And why was he returning to this corrupt sin-sick city with his
young family after years of international travel?

Does this answer your question?  It's a question I have often wondered.  But, for this particular incident this answers your quesiton.

[Karl Kinaski]

On 6/12/2021 at 3:56 PM, John Butler said:

 

 deleted by KK 

 

Edited June 27, 2021 by Karl Kinaski

[Jim Hargrove]

On 6/10/2021 at 2:19 PM, John Butler said:

 

The Bolton Ford Incident from Harvey and Lee site:

The following information identifies a Lee Oswald and Joseph More as two people who wanted to buy 10 trucks.

“On January 20, 1961, while Harvey Oswald was in Minsk, two men visited the Bolton Ford dealership in New Orleans. They spoke with Assistant Manager Oscar Deslatte and said they were interested in purchasing 10 Ford Econoline Trucks. As one of the men discussed the purchase with Deslatte the other man, who identified himself as Joseph Moore, made a list of the equipment they desired on the trucks.

Deslatte went to his boss, truck manager Fred Sewell, and told him about the two men who wanted to purchase trucks and said they represented the "Free Democrats of Cuba or some such organization." Sewell told Deslatte to give the men a bid of $75 over their cost for the trucks. Deslatte and Sewell returned to Deslatte's desk and wrote out a bid form to Joseph Moore. As Deslatte was filling out the bid form, Joseph Moore and the other man began talking to both Deslatte and Sewell.42

When Moore saw that Deslatte had written his name on the bid form he asked that the name be changed to "Friends of Democratic Cuba." Moore's friend looked· at the form and said, "By the way, you'd better put my name down there because I'm the man handling the money." When Deslatte asked, "What's your name?" the man replied, "Lee Oswald."61-04”

And,

“Sewell described Lee Oswald as, "5-foot-6 or 5-foot-7, thin, about 140 pounds, and thought he needed a meal and a haircut. He recalled that Oswald was clean but "wasn't well dressed and he wasn't shabby." This may not describe Harvey.  Harvey always kept his hair neatly trimmed and well groomed to hide his receding hairline.  This is evident in photos with the exception of photos at the DPD station.

Sewell described the second man, who identified himself as Joseph Moore as, "Kind of heavy-set ..... not overly, but well built ..... he was curly haired ..... he had a scar over his left eye ..... olive complexioned and seemed to be educated ..... he had a Cuban accent and looked like a Cuban."”

This description fits Harvey Oswald rather than Lee.  There are a couple of possibilities here.  It was Harvey due to the description.  It was not Harvey, but someone else who fit Harvey’s description such as Billy Seymour.  Joseph Moore had a Cuban or Latin description.

However:

The FBI didn't seem interested in Deslatte's tale, especially since Deslatte could not identify a photograph of Lee Harvey Oswald an agent showed him on 11/25/63, and he was unable to give a good description of either man to the FBI. He told the Bureau that he remembered the incident because of the organization's name, not the name "Oswald." 8  "Deslatte called the FBI after the President was assassinated and after conferring with Manager Fred Sewell about "those two guys who was in here from Cuba trying to get some buses cheap."9

“Of course it makes perfect sense that Deslatte didn't think the photograph of Oswald was either "Joseph Moore" or the other man who said he was "Oswald" if the real Oswald was not in New Orleans in 1961 but in the Soviet Union.”

Even though this may have been Lee Oswald, or an Oswald double, and Harvey was in Russia, it still raises questions about the two.  This event is directly related to the folks that were running the Harvey and Lee team.

From another site:

JFK Lancer: 

The Assassination Chronicles Vol. 1, Issue 4 December 1995

The Bolton Ford Dealership Story

by Steve N. Bochan

“The official documentation on the so-called Bolton Ford Dealership episode contains a little research "gem" in the tenth volume of the HSCA hearings:  it is the name of Gerard F. Tujague. Remember this name.”

There is also another “gem” with this name mentioned and that is:

“W. Guy Banister, ex-FBI man who was once recommended by Hoover
while he headed the Chicago FBI Office, was on the Board of Directors for
this newly-formed organization.”

These two were listed as board members on a newly formed organization called FRIENDS OF DEMOCRATIC CUBA.  This organization was formed on January 6, 1961.  And, Oswald and Moore made their visit on January 20, 1961 to Bolton Ford.

FWIW, I speculate that the Russian Oswald, the Harvey who met Marina, screwed up somehow or another in the US or Russia and demonstrated unreliability.  And, by this time it was decided he would be used in a terminal fashion.  This doesn’t mean that this was related to the JFKA.  That may have developed later. 

I believe he was to be setup and eliminated due to what he knew about the Oswald Project, Oswalds in New York, Russian defection, the KGB, CIA involvement, and the U2 downed/Eisenhower/Khruschchev summit meeting.  He must have displayed some signs of unreliability.  I base this on his AWOL in New Orleans in 1958.  He could have gone over to the Russians in more than a play acting spy role.

The likely cabal of Guy Bannister, Gerald Tujague, Clay Shaw, David Ferrie, and others would be involved.  They knew this Oswald and the other.  Lee would eventually be used in the framing of Harvey.  Over time this became the JFKA.  And, that is speculation based on the reading of the facts presented.

John,

I'll try to get back to you on the marine stuff when I've had a chance to look over your material in more detail.  In the meantime, Steve Bochan’s take—that an Oswald impostor visited Bolton Ford in 1961—is probably the one that most researchers believed, at least until Harvey and Lee became well known.

There is a tremendous amount of disinformation out there about the Bolton Ford incident, probably because it proves there was something weird going on about “Lee Harvey Oswald” years before the assassination of JFK.  

Here’s the document  assistant Bolton manager Oscar Deslatte gave the FBI, which included, in writing, “Friends of Democratic Cuba,” an organization whose directors included none other than W. Guy Banister and Gerard Tugague, who employed Oswald briefly in 1955 and early 1966.  It should be noted that on Jan. 20, 1961, the date of this document, “Lee Harvey Oswald” was in the Soviet Union.

 

In its report allegedly dated 11/25/63, the FBI claimed Delatte could not recall ever seeing “Oswald” and could not identify his photo.  But Garrison’s investigators proved that was false simply by interviewing Mr. Deslatte’s boss, Fred Sewell.  Mr. Sewell described an entirely different story.  Here is the part of the description:

Here’s some more of what Mr. Sewell told Garrison’s investigator:

Many people, both now back in the day, want us to believe that Messrs. Sewell and Deslatte made this all up to fool Jim Garrison. But this old FBI doc,  mentioning which was surely not buried because of a mistake, proves otherwise.  Be sure to read the last sentence.

[John Butler]

Jim,

That info is neat.  The FBI airtel just verifies DeSlatte was involved with the truck incident at Bolton Ford.  Although, I have reservations since Carlos Bringuier is involved.

The first doc just raises more questions.  The Oswald person is described as sickly and very pale as if he came form Iceland.  Or, perhaps Russia?  That bit feeds my speculations, but what does that prove.  Not much.

People in NO would be tanned and still somewhat that way even in the winter months, I would think.  Some fellow noticeably pale would stick out as a sore thumb.  Again this feeds my speculations, but once again where's the beef.

[Karl Kinaski]

Quote Harvey and Lee, b< j. Armstoing: 

" But Oswald was not staying at the Murret's and his whereabouts and activities from April 24-29 (1963)are unknown. "  

Close quote.

The whereabouts and activities of LHO a r e known. 

Quote ME AND LEE, by Judyth Vary Baker:

 

— CHAPTER 8 —

THE PARTY

Sunday, April 28, 1963

 

The next morning, I worked my two-hour shift at Royal Castle and returned to the boarding house on St. Charles Ave. Lee arrived by midmorning as we had planned. First he wanted to locate his father’s grave, then show me the sights of his city. His Uncle Dutz had given him the names of a few relatives who might be willing to help him find the grave. One was an elderly aunt. We caught a streetcar and transferred to a bus. As we rode, Lee pointed to a street and said, “My cousin’s visiting over there. I can use his car later today to show you around the city.” “Why can’t we use it now?” I asked. “They need it to go to Mass, but later, it’ll be okay.”

(...)

We arrived in the neighborhood where his elderly aunt lived. As we approached her home, Lee thought it best for me to wait a few houses away.“If she blows up at me,” he said, “at least she won’t blow up at you, too.” After half an hour, Lee came out. I could tell by the expression on his face that the meeting had not been pleasant. She had been soured by the news of his defection, but after scolding him she grudgingly gave Lee information concerning his father’s gravesite. We got back on the bus and went to pick up the car. I thought to myself, “At least one of his cousins still likes him.” By now, I knew his relatives shouldn’t be seeing me, so I waited beside the car, while Lee got the keys. Then we got in the car and drove off to find the cemetery. As he drove, Lee talked about his aunt’s bitter rejection.1’ “It’s the price I have to pay,” he told me, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like it,” ending with “I hope someday my children will know the truth about me. “ Lee stared straight ahead as he revealed more about his difficult childhood. His father died two months before he was born. When the insurance money ran out, his brother Robert and his half-brother, John Pic,

were taken to the Lutheran Bethlehem orphanage in New Orleans. Lee, at first too young to go there, was sent to stay with his Aunt Lil and Uncle Dutz Murret until he was three years old. Then Marguerite placed Lee with his brothers in the orphanage “to keep the boys together,” visiting them only on weekends. “My aunt and uncle cried when I left. So did I,” Lee admitted.

(...)

We reached the cemetery, and wandered through a fascinating maze looking for his father’s grave. 

(…) And we were in a cemetery with no one around. I considered asking him to take me back to the boarding house, but decided to wait until he found his father’s grave.

(...)

Lee turned the conversation back to his wife Marina. He said Marina had repeatedly been unfaithful to him since the early days of their marriage. “It almost destroyed me when she cheated on me the first time,” he admitted. “But she did it as easily as drinking a bottle of beer.”

(...)

Lee told me how their relationship began back in the Soviet Union and described it as a marriage of convenience. Lee had feared deportation, and needed to marry a Russian girl to stay in the country. Marina, on the other hand, wanted to marry an American man so she could go to America.

(...)

Lee drove us to the French Quarter, where we walked around Jackson Square and looked at the artists’ paintings hanging on the fence. There we saw the majestic St. Louis Cathedral, flanked by the historic Cabildo buildings which hold much of the city’s colorful history. We walked down Pirate’s Alley and windowshopped our way down Royal Street’s antique stores and fine art galleries. When we got to Bourbon Street, Lee pointed out a restaurant where he’d swept floors and washed dishes as a teenager. “It was my first lucrative job, working for my uncle’s friends,” he joked, explaining that he spent the money he made on comic books and playing pool. Lee noted that he wasn’t much richer today, though he did have enough change for buses and hoped to have enough money for a trip to the zoo.

(…)

We were both planning to attend Dave’s party that night, but I needed to get some sleep first, so Lee dropped me off at the boarding house and gave me a brotherly kiss on the cheek.

(...)

A loud tapping on my window woke me up. It was Lee. He had broughtsome groceries from a deli. I put the perishables in Mrs. Webber’s refrigerator, and then we sat together on the porch swing and ate oranges. Long shadows on the lawn foretold the sunset.

(...)

Lee had returned the car to his cousin, since I had nixed plans to drive around with him after Dave’s party was over. Now we were on our way by streetcar and bus, sitting quietly together as we traveled.

(...)

I wanted very much to meet Dr. Sherman, who was slated to make an appearance at the party, but I was still feeling uncertain about Lee.  

(...)

 We walked arm-in-arm up to Dave’s apartment. The upstairs porch was brightly lit, with rock and roll music announcing the party. Competing with it was the sound of many loud voices. A number of older cars were parked in the street. I saw two men sitting in one of the cars, kissing. Lee noticed them, too.“Be prepared,” he said. “There will be some unusual people here.” “I’m beginning to notice,” I confirmed. “Dave has to cultivate a variety of contacts,” Lee explained. “You can’t have an information network in this city without running into some of these characters.” “I’m glad you’re with me,” I said, as we walked around to the back door, climbed the stairs and navigated around a pair of boys who were smoking pot and smooching. As we entered Dave’s kitchen, Lee said, “I say, to each his own. It’s a human right to have sex, whatever way you wish, so long as it doesn’t hurt anybody. Is that offensive to you?” “No, no,” I answered. “But my preferences are totally traditional.” “Have you explored other options?” Lee countered. “Not interested,” I assured him. “I am happy with the male variety, thank you very much.” “As for me,” Lee said, “I observed that the original blueprint was successful. Men and women were built to fit together like a puzzle. But if that doesn’t work for somebody, let them do whatever pleases them. I used to tear pictures of pretty women from comic books and catalogs, and take them to bed with me,” he confided, smiling. “I just never had the tendency to tear out pictures of good looking men and fantasize about them. So I guess I’m not gay.”The apartment was filled with people. Dave had put the paraphernalia out of sight, so no one would guess he had a lab in his kitchen.

We grabbed some goodies, then moved to greet Dave, who stood between the crowded dining room and the kitchen, chain smoking. He was talking earnestly with some young white males who looked like students. The air was thick with smoke, mingling the sweet aroma of marijuana and illegal Cuban cigars with cigarette tobacco.  Dave introduced us as “friends” to several people, but the music was so loud I could hardly understand a word. Most of the guests were fit looking adult males, mostly Cuban and Mexican, some with their girlfriends in tow. 

(...) 

Lee and I had fun dancing to a couple of rock ‘n’ roll songs and then took time to rest. I noticed a pair of thin, nervous looking men dressed in black suits. Lee said David Ferrie called them “Martin and Lewis,” a nickname that referred to the comedian Jerry Lewis and his singing pal, Dean Martin. “They look like they’re from the FBI,” I commented. “They should,” Lee answered. “They work for Guy Banister, and he was a big FBI hotshot. They’re probably here to pick up information for Banister.”

Lee introduced me to the strange pair. Both apparently had wives who were not present. As Jack Martin continued to drink, he became increasingly obnoxious and started flirting with some of the gay men. David Lewis ignored him and got out one of Ferrie’s chess sets. I didn’t want to play because Dr. Sherman might arrive at any moment. So I sat in a corner with a book and kept an eye on the party while Lee played Lewis.The party was still in full swing when Dr. Sherman arrived. You couldn’t miss her. She was by far the best-dressed person in the room. She was a professional, middle-aged woman with attractive features. Her hair was pulled back severely in a French twist. Dave Ferrie brought me over to her. She was speaking fluent Spanish to two dark men. “Mary, this is Miss Vary,” Dave said.  “She’s been anxious to meet you.” “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk to her now,” she told him, without looking at me. “Dr. Sherman,” I interjected, “Has Dr. Ochsner spoken to you about me yet?” “I can’t talk to you now!” she repeated, sharply. “Please excuse me.” She then turned around and resumed talking to the two men in Spanish, as if I were not even there. She led them onto the porch, leaving Dave looking perplexed. My insecurities swelled. Why didn’t Dr. Sherman want to talk to me? “Is she upset with me about something?” I asked Dave. “Let it go, for now,” Dave said. “She must have her reasons.” I felt crushed. “Can I go in your bedroom, and just read until she leaves?” I asked.“I wouldn’t recommend going in there,” Dave said. “Just go back to your corner, if you want to read. Nobody will bother you.” I curled up with my book again. I thought about asking Lee to take me home, but I didn’t. Dr. Sherman did not stay long. As she prepared to leave, I saw her open the refrigerator and remove the container of mouse tumors. Were they the real reason she had come to the party? (…) David Lewis worked several part-time jobs, mostly handling luggage, but his passions were politics, chess, and classical music. These were interests he shared with Lee. He said that his wife Anna was a waitress at Thompson’s Restaurant on St. Charles Avenue, and he invited Lee and me to stop by the restaurant for a free piece of pie. In the same breath, he warned us not to mention anything about his working for Guy Banister to Anna, because he’d told her he had quit.  

(...)

Things started getting pretty crazy. Ferrie physically ejected Jack Martin from the party, calling him a drunk and telling him to go home. Around two A.M. the police arrived and ordered Ferrie to shut the party down. The music suddenly stopped, and people left. The place was a wreck. Ferrie looked at his disheveled apartment and muttered that he wasn’t going to have another party for a long time.

(...)

… I was having deep reservations about Dr. David Ferrie and his cancer research project. He was a blatantly suspicious character, who had made subversive remarks against President Kennedy, and claimed that hewas ordered to kill Fidel Castro. This, in combination with the wild nature of the party, Dr. Sherman’s refusal to speak to me, Dave’s drunkenness and the assortment of shady characters made me want to run in the opposite direction. So I put him off, saying I couldn’t make any decisions until I talked to Dr. Ochsner. “That’s fine with me,” Ferrie said. “After all, Ochsner’s the boss.” Dave then offered to drive us home, but Lee, seeing Dave was too tipsy to drive safely, declined the offer. Lee called a cab, and we went outside to wait for it. I said I didn’t believe Ferrie’s project was secretly sponsored by the CIA. I thought it was all a dream in his messed up head. Lee said soothingly, “Dave might sound like he is exaggerating, but he’s not. I don’t know all the details yet,” he went on, “but if Ferrie says it’s that important, it is.”

I informed Lee that I wasn’t all that impressed with him, either. As far as I knew Lee could be a spy for the wrong side, right along with this socalled “Dr. Ferrie,” and I wouldn’t agree to anything until I met with Dr. Ochsner later the next week. “It’ll be too late by then,” Lee said, “to get you into the proper position.” “What proper position?” I asked. “I don’t even know if Dr. Sherman will accept me into her lab now.” I was frightened at the thought. Soon we arrived at the boarding house, but the hour was very late. Mrs. Webber, whose schedule seemed to include staying up all night and sleeping until noon, would surely notice. “There’s no law against attending a party,” Lee said firmly, escorting me up the steps. “You have the right  to come and go as you please. But I can’t leave you upset like this. What can I do?” “I don’t know,” I told him. “I need proof that Dr. Ferrie isn’t lying and  that Dr. Sherman isn’t going to dump me; and that I’m not getting into the wrong crowd.”

(...)

“I have a solution to your problem. You should meet Guy Banister. He was the head of the FBI’s Chicago office and can verify the legitimacy of our project. Would that make you feel better?” “I would very much like to meet Mr. Banister,” I admitted. “Then you must play a bit of a role,” Lee said. “We don’t want you seen there, so we need to disguise you as my wife. Nobody in Banister’s office has seen her so far. I can fix your hair into a ponytail, like Marina. We can take off your makeup. You can wear her clothes.” “You have her clothes?” “A box or so,” he said. “I’ll look through them.”

(…)

 

End of Sunday 28^th of April 1963.

 

Close quote ME AND LEE, by Judyth Vary Baker

 

Quote Harvey and Lee, b< j. Armstoing: 

" But Oswald was not staying at the Murret's and his whereabouts and activities 
from April 24-29 (1963)are unknown. "  

Close quote.

The whereabouts and activities of LHO a r e known. 

 

 

 

Edited June 13, 2021 by Karl Kinaski

[Karl Kinaski]

Quote Harvey and Lee, by john Armstrong

" But Oswald was not staying at the Murret's and his whereabouts and activities 
from April 24-29 (1963)are unknown. "  

Close quote.

False.

The whereabouts and activities of LHO from April the 26th to April the 29th a r e known. 

 

Quote ME AND LEE, by Judyth Vary Baker Monday April 29th 1963, NOLA:

 

— CHAPTER 9 —

THE TARGET

Monday, April 29, 1963

 

After a few hours of restless sleep, I took a bus to Royal Castle, where I once again plunged into the hectic morning rush. I was surprised when Lee walked in, since we had agreed to meet later in the day at Woolworth’s on Canal Street. He sat down and ordered breakfast. As I served him, Lee said that the previous morning his Uncle Dutz had moved his stuff by car from the bus station lockers to the Murret’s garage: Lee was now living with the Murrets. Dutz had also given him the car to use today, which is why Lee could meet me so early. We had wheels for the day! After my shift ended, we headed back to town. On the way, he said he wanted to buy some second-hand clothes for me like Marina would wear. I would have “my own set of Marina clothes, whenever I needed them.” That way, she would not be puzzled about missing clothes. Whenever I needed them? Would I have to meet even more people, at other times, pretending to be Lee’s wife? Whoa! But a sense of adventure had risen in me. I was being brought into Lee’s clandestine world! We stopped at the Salvation Army store, and Lee bought me a skirt and blouse. He was going for the Russian peasant look of that period, which was very plain. I put the clothes on, and they fit fine. In the car, Lee brushed my hair and put it into a ponytail. He said that my hair was finer in texture than Marina’s, but it was the same color and length. He wanted to pass me off as Marina in Banister’s office, so Banister’s staff would not know I existed. It was, after all, a private detective agency, full of nosy and observant people.

(…)

We got back in the car and Lee drove us to Lafayette Square, located in the 600 block of St. Charles Avenue near the old federal courthouse. He pulled over and let me off on Camp Street, telling me to wait there while he parked the car. He came back on foot in a few minutes and then walked me around the corner to Mr. Banister’s office.

Inside, the air was musty from old air conditioners, and the décor reminded me of an out-dated attorney’s office. I saw several people who looked like secretaries working at their desks. Swinging doors guarded the entrance to the file room, providing some privacy for people handling the confidential files. A door which led to Guy Banister’s office was clearly marked with his name. It was closed.We approached the middle-aged secretary and, Lee introduced us by saying “Mr. and Mrs. Oswald are here to see Mr. Banister.” The secretary greeted us in a friendly manner and made a comment to me, but I kept my head down, as Lee had directed, and softly said something back in Russian. “Mrs. Oswald doesn’t speak any English,” Lee explained to the secretary, “so she can’t really talk to you.” The secretary kept talking to me anyway, as women often do. This annoyed Lee, so he stressed the point again by saying, “I am sorry, but Mrs. Oswald does not speak English.” After a few minutes, Mr. Banister came out and invited us into his private office. Once inside, I saw even more file cabinets and piles of papers stacked on the floor. Mr. Banister was alert and businesslike, with a commanding presence. “So, this is Mrs. Oswald, is it?” he said, as he shook my hand. Then he smiled at Lee, as he closed the door. Banister’s sly smilemade me realize that he already knew I wasn’t really Mrs. Oswald. “I understand you needed to meet me,” he said sternly. I was now standing face to face with a man who was supposed to allay my fears and instill trust in me. His craggy visage was framed by a square jaw and wavygrey hair. His eyes glared with authority that was almost arrogant. And one could not help but notice that he was wearing a shoulder holster which held a large silver pistol. This man was armed and wanted those around him to know it. I was almost speechless, but managed to acknowledge his comment, as my eyes studied the room. The walls were covered with certificates and awards from his years in the FBI, alerting his visitors to his former greatness.

(...)

Lee gave me a nod to let me know it was time to tell Mr. Banister why I was there. So I explained to Banister that I had misgivings after hearing Dave Ferrie and his Cuban friends talk about killing both Castro and Kennedy. I needed to know if the project that I had been asked to work on was really a secret project for the American government. Mr. Banister assured me it was, and added that Ferrie would often floatideas like that to measure the Cubans’ reactions. It was part of his job as an undercover agent working within the Cuban exile community. He said they were working on a get-Castro project, and that summaries of Ferrie’s cancer research reports were photocopied on the Xerox machine in his office before being sent on to Georgia. Banister said I was needed for this special medical project, and then urged Lee to take me upstairs, gesturing to the room above his head. The only access to this inner chamber was a staircase along one wall. The stairs were newly installed and the wall had not yet been sheetrocked, leaving the wooden studs exposed. He said these stairs would soon be concealed behind a normal-looking wall of sheetrock, so people wouldn’tknow they were there. Not even Banister’s own staff had access to the room above without passing through his private office. We climbed upstairs, where there were even more filing cabinets. These were Banister’s “high treasures.” He proudly explained that these were the secret files that David Ferrie had been helping him with. Information was his business, Banister boasted, and these files were the really important ones. There, in his secret upstairs room, Guy Banister told me Lee Oswald was also working with him, and was being groomed to do his part to save Cuba from Communism. With these comments, my concerns about Lee and Ferrie’s loyalties and Ferrie’s outlandish claims about Kennedy and Castro were put to rest.

(...)

Once we were back in the car, I asked Lee what in those files was so important. Lee explained Banister’s situation to me. After leaving the FBI, Banister had come to New Orleans to be the Deputy Chief of Police, supposedly to root out corruption. His stay was brief. There was an incident which led to Banister’s dismissal from the NOPD. Lee suggested that Banister may have been framed. But being publicly fired disgraced this proud man, who was determined to get his revenge. In response, he started a private investigation agency and hired spies to gather incriminating information on the New Orleans police and the city’s politicians, concerning their connections to the Mafia. He updated his secret files constantly to chronicle the deep and persistent state of corruption. Ironically, Banister was being paid for these efforts by Carlos Marcello’s attorney. But, Lee cautioned, despite Banister’s moralistic veneer, he was now drinking too much and had taken one of his secretaries as a mistress, both of which made him vulnerable. Lee said Dave Ferrie was concerned about Banister’s drinking, as it increasingly loosened his lips about their secret operations. At last, I understood how Dave could work for the former head of Chicago’s FBI and Carlos Marcello at the same time, despite the apparent conflict of allegiance.

(...)

We were still in the downtown area, and Lee wanted us to check in with two employment agencies. We did so quickly and then, since we still had his uncle’s car, Lee suggested we go to Pontchartrain Beach, the amusement park on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain that had just opened for the year. I was quite ready for some fun, and my trust in Lee was re-established, so I agreed.

(...)

We had reached Pontchartrain Beach, and Lee parked the car.

(…)

After a wonderful day, Lee dropped me off at the place I was now calling “The Mansion.”

(...)

That night, I was left to myself in my romantic new home. As I looked around, I was shocked to see an eye at the keyhole. Mrs. Webber! That nosy old bat! I stuffed it with paper. Then I locked the sliding doors and went to sleep.

 

End of Monday, April 29^th 1963, NOLA.

 

Close Quote LEE AND ME, by Judyth Vary Baker