Friday, Jul 4, 2008
It wasn't Earl Warren -- or Oliver Stone. His name is G. Robert Blakey.
Nov 22, 2003 | After a week of media overkill triggered by the 40th anniversary of John F. Kennedy's assassination, the American public is left as bewildered as ever by the "crime of the 20th century." ABC News took the part of the establishment media this time (a role played on past JFK anniversaries by CBS and the New York Times), reassuring us in a two-hour Thursday special report hosted by Peter Jennings that the Warren Commission got it right in 1964: Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, case closed. But a poll released by the network itself in time for its special underscored just how unconvincing the public finds this official version: four decades after the president's murder, 68 percent of Americans stubbornly refuse to believe that Oswald was a lone assassin, and the same number think there was "an official cover-up" to hide the truth about the assassination from the public.
This deep cloud of suspicion has enabled conspiracy theories to flourish, and the wildest one this season is being advanced by none other than White House spokesman Scott McClellan's father, Barr, who worked in the late '60s for a Texas law firm that represented Lyndon Johnson. In a new book, "Blood, Money & Power," McClellan charges that LBJ conspired with his old boss, power attorney Edward Clark, and Texas oil interests to replace Kennedy through the barrel of a gun.
McClellan's allegation fits the flamboyant pattern set by the master of fevered conspiracy dreams, Oliver Stone, who is back this anniversary with a new director's cut of "JFK," his 1991 indictment of the CIA, the military-industrial complex and, yes, LBJ. Only a Hollywood moviemaker as gloriously and arrogantly wrong-headed about history as Stone could have seized upon the corrupt and supremely weird New Orleans district attorney Jim Garrison -- who brought, and spectacularly lost, the only legal case related to the assassination before a jury -- as a great American hero.
But if moonstruck conspiracy-weavers like Stone and McClellan give JFK conspiracy research a bad name, that doesn't mean the Warren Commission was right. As even its most resolute defenders -- such as Gerald Posner, author of the 1993 bestseller "Case Closed" -- concede, the distinguished panel headed by Supreme Court Chief Justice Earl Warren was denied key pieces of the puzzle by the FBI and the CIA. And the most important pieces of information related to the CIA/Mafia plot against Cuban dictator Fidel Castro and the illegal FBI surveillance of Mafia leaders, which revealed a widespread and murderous hostility toward President Kennedy and his crime-busting brother, Attorney General Robert Kennedy. The Warren panel did have a neon-bright sign pointing to the Mafia right before its eyes -- Jack Ruby, the Mob-connected nightclub owner who murdered Oswald on national television -- but the commission inexplicably decided not to pursue this angle. Commission investigators credulously accepted the word of a Chicago hood named Lenny Patrick that Ruby had no underworld ties, when in fact it was Patrick himself who had run Ruby out of town for stepping on his gambling turf.
Bobby Kennedy was not so credulous. Kennedy, who according to his biographer Evan Thomas "regarded the Warren Commission as a public relations exercise to reassure the public," immediately turned his suspicions on the Mafia, CIA, and anti-Castro Cubans after his brother's murder. He would accept the solemn word of fellow Irish Catholic John McCone, the CIA director, that the agency had nothing to do with the crime. But he would go to his grave in 1968 suspecting that JFK was the victim of a plot, and his thoughts lingered darkly on the lords of the underworld. In the years after JFK's assassination, as Bobby was elected to the Senate from New York in 1964 and then ran for president in 1968, he would launch more than one of his old Mafia-hunting Justice Department associates on a search for the truth, including Walter Sheridan and Ed Guthman, and even his press secretary Frank Mankiewicz.
"Bobby said to me, 'You look into this, read everything you can, so if it gets to a point where I can do something about this, you can tell me what I need to know,'" Mankiewicz recently told me. "I became an assassination buff. I came to the conclusion that there was some sort of conspiracy, probably between the Mob, anti-Castro Cuban exiles, and maybe rogue CIA agents. Every so often I would bring this up with Bobby. I told him who I thought was involved. But it was like he couldn't focus on it, he'd get this look of pain or more like numbness on his face. It just tore him apart."
Kennedy had reason to be haunted by his brother's death: he knew that his organized-crime crusade as JFK's attorney general might have triggered Jack's murder. Like a long line of American politicians -- including his legendary rivals Johnson and Nixon -- Jack Kennedy was not above using the Mafia for favors. The family patriarch Joe Kennedy had organized crime ties dating back to his bootlegging days and the Kennedys used these connections to deliver money and votes during the 1960 presidential campaign, principally in the West Virginia primary and in Chicago during the general election, which tipped the key Illinois electoral vote into the Democratic column. The priapic JFK was also quite happy to move in Frank Sinatra's hedonistic social circle and share women like Judith Campbell with Mafia dons (until Bobby, Jack's vigilant keeper, warned his brother to drop both the singer and the call girl). As president, Kennedy allowed the CIA to continue its unholy alliance with the Mafia to kill Castro, a covert operation hatched in the final days of the Eisenhower administration.
And yet, as attorney general, Bobby Kennedy waged a merciless war against these very same underworld kingpins. While FBI chief J. Edgar Hoover had long insisted there was no such thing as the Mafia, Kennedy knew better, and he took the number of organized crime convictions from a mere 35 in 1960 to 288 in 1963, a figure that doubled within a year as a result of the momentum built up in the last months of the Kennedy reign. Bobby created a "Get Hoffa" unit in the Justice Department to hound the Teamster leader, who had turned the union's pension fund into a piggy bank for the Mob. He even unceremoniously deported the powerful godfather of Louisiana, Carlos Marcello, who had cops, FBI agents and politicians in his pocket.
Bobby was the Kennedy family's avenging angel. And if his family had stooped to conquer in American politics, he would remove the stain from their name by ridding the country of the underworld bosses who were subverting American government, business and labor.
Not surprisingly, organized crime leaders were outraged by what they saw as a Kennedy double cross. And no Mafia lord was more venomously agitated against the Kennedy brothers than Marcello, who spent two nightmarish months of exile in Central America before slipping secretly back into the country. According to the testimony of a Marcello business colleague named Edward Becker later given to government investigators, the New Orleans godfather made an ominous threat in fall 1962. "Don't worry about that little Bobby sonofabitch," said Marcello. He said he would make sure the "dog" stopped biting, not by cutting off its tail -- Bobby -- but its head, the president. Marcello also spoke of taking out "insurance" for the president's assassination by "setting up a nut to take the blame ... the way they do it all the time in Sicily."
Lee Harvey Oswald was known to the Marcello organization through Marcello's private investigator David Ferrie, a strange fixture in many JFK conspiracy theories. (Ferrie had a rare disease that caused him to lose all his hair, which he replaced with bad mohawk hairpieces and fake eyebrows.) Ferrie, a former Eastern Airlines pilot who was active in secretive anti-Castro operations, had served as the commander of Oswald's teenage civil air patrol unit and was seen socializing with him in New Orleans during the summer of 1963.
Bobby Kennedy never got into a position to reopen the file on his brother's assassination -- as he told a crowd of California college students he would in 1968 if elected president. But one of the young federal prosecutors who had worked for him at the Justice Department -- inspired by the battle cry in Shakespeare's "Henry the Fifth," they and Bobby referred to themselves as "we band of brothers" -- would. In 1977, G. Robert Blakey, who had worked on Bobby's "Get Hoffa" team, was named chief counsel of the House Select Committee on Assassinations, the only government panel besides the Warren Commission to investigate JFK's murder. Blakey, an organized crime expert who wrote the 1970 RICO act, would go into the two-year, $6 million probe believing the committee would reach the same conclusions as the Warren Commission. He would emerge as the Warren Report's most authoritative critic and a firm believer that Kennedy had died as the result of a conspiracy, masterminded by Marcello and his Mafia ally, Santo Trafficante, the Florida godfather who had been driven out of the lucrative Havana casino business by Castro and who had been recruited in the CIA plot to kill the Cuban leader.
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