November 29, 1963
even days after his attempted assassination, the day after S Thanksgiving 1963, Kennedy surprised even his closest advisors. He jumped off the fence and decided about Vietnam. In a news conference on November 29, he announced he hoped “with every fiber of my being… that Vietnam immerges from this current struggle… as a free… and open… Democracy.” He said he would commit the US to the “support of… and involvement in… any action…
by the rest of the free world, to wrest from the jaws of Communism, either the half… or the whole… of Vietnam.”
Indicating he may have learned from the two fact-finding missions to Vietnam, Kennedy said he believed it would be “a folly of historic proportions… to ask our fighting men… to die in a dark jungle half a world away… in support of a regime of questionable ethics… whose only redeeming value may be that its enemy is Communist. If the rest of the free world… sees this not as their fight… I say to our young men… I see it not as yours.”
Were it not for politics, Kennedy might have moved quickly to implement his plans for pulling out of Vietnam. Like it or not, however, politics was Kennedy’s chosen game, and he was no more im-mune to its nuances than was anyone else. Through a series of unofficial meetings and hallway conferences, Kennedy came to accept that he could not pull out of Vietnam now, not with the next election only a year away. He would have to keep America involved at current or modestly increasing levels, in order that the opposition, should they take the White House in 1964, would have all options open to them.
You might expect Kennedy’s announcement would meet with 61
rejoicing, or at least acceptance, in the good old USA. Surely young military men would rather continue training to fight, and deal only philosophically with how to die. Parents would feel relieved to know their sons were as safe as not going to war made them safe.
All over America, men and women, military and civilian, blue bloods and illegal immigrants alike, would all have been happy to know that this war is one they could sit out, because our thoughtful, deliberate leaders have analyzed it and found it not to be worth the price of admission. That’s what you’d think.
But we humans think that way after a war, after we’ve seen for ourselves the blood and gore, carnage and butchery, the smoking, twisted metal, the slaughter and rape and waste. Before the war starts, before the first bullet has left the first muzzle, we humans are still convinced our armies will easily vanquish our enemy, that he will be so awed by our superior weapons, our courage and daring, our determination, our grit and lust for the fight, that he will run screaming from the battlefield, and the day will be ours.
Knowing all that, it is no great surprise Kennedy received very few “attaboys” after his announcement. People were disappointed, or outright critical. Here was this puny enemy, thumbing its nose at us. We had been prepared to watch as our troops went over there and squashed them like bugs, making Southeast Asia safe for Democracy. And now it’s over? Before it started?
Kennedy held firm in his belief. As his reward, he suffered the criticism of growing numbers of Republican and Democratic lawmakers alike, who warned voters of the danger to free society if they allowed the north to defeat the south in far-off Vietnam. Of that criticism, Kennedy seemed not to care. With the election a scant year away, he was despondent. He carried a great weight: other than the conspirators, only he and Jackie knew of the attempt to assassinate an American President. He could never reveal the source of that knowledge, so he would deal with it alone. He was determined, however, that he would not allow the assassination attempt to cow him into capitulating. He felt certain the attempt on his life had been due to his stance on Vietnam. Unfortunately, the list of individuals 62
who opposed him on that issue was long and varied.
It displeased him that he must resort to making this call, but he saw no other way. Any legal investigation, no matter how low-key, would become part of an official record. It would become public knowledge that the president had launched an investigation into an attempted assassination. He just couldn’t do that to the country.
Nevertheless, he wanted to know which of his enemies hated him enough, and were bold enough, to kill a U.S. President. It galled him every time he thought about it. He wanted to know who they were, and he wanted them to know he knew. He made the call, to a person with whom, in a perfect world, he would not associate. He laughed at that thought: a perfect world. As if that were even possible. Our entire time on Earth, he mused, from the primordial ooze to the present, would be as a day when compared with the eons required, at our present rate, to create a perfect world. Someday, perhaps. But today, he made the call.
The man with no name called at a side door of the White House.
He entered, and his presence was not recorded. He was shown to the president’s office, where he listened to the president.
“So, you understand what I require,” Kennedy said, in sum-mary, “and why I can’t investigate this myself. You will speak of this to no one, ever. We’ll both suffer if you do. You will be paid whether you succeed or not, and you will continue to be paid, every year, as long as I need your silence, and I expect that will be forever.
“This packet contains a list of names and newspaper clippings, to get you started. There is also a phone number. If you fail, dial the number and report that to the person who answers the phone. If you succeed, call that number to arrange another meeting date like this.
I’ll want to hear everything.”
Another meeting took place a few days later, though it did not coordinate with Kennedy’s meeting. This meeting was in a hunting lodge, deep in a forested area of a southeastern U.S. state, not easily reached. It was early December 1963.
The room had been abuzz with conversation, but it went silent 63
when the big man stepped in. All eyes watched him as he walked to his customary place in front of the massive fireplace, conspicuously cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief. He arrived at his place, but continued fussing with his glasses, as if the others didn’t matter.
When he placed his glasses on his face and looked up, the other six men in the room leaned forward in their seats, so eager were they to hear what he would say. They were disappointed.
“This,” the big man began, “is the last time we will meet.” His followers interrupted him with disapproving cries of, “No, we can try again, you’re joking, another chance, next time.” The big man endured the insolence in a bored, “this is my little cross to bear”
manner. When he’d had enough, he opened his mouth to speak again, and again, the room went silent.
“Can anyone tell me what happened to our shooter? His rifle?
Perhaps you know how he could take our money and disappear so well that even I cannot find a trace of him.” No one answered.
“Yet you would put together another attempt, without learning how our first try was so easily swept aside? Let me tell you something. We are, all of us, lucky to be free men today. In my considered opinion, we are lucky even to be alive. Because—” and here the big man paused a few seconds to look in the eye of each man assembled before him, “—he knows.”
The big man allowed his team to consider his statement. Before the silence became unbearable, he said, “He knows of the attempt.
He may even know our identities. He has changed every element of his security. We will never find him vulnerable again. We had our chance. We failed, and in failing, we failed our cause. Go home. I will contact you if ever I feel it necessary for us to meet again as a group. Until then, don’t. I will find out. I will not be happy.”
With that, the big man left the room. Six old men looked at each other, silently. The big man’s threat was clear. This was the end.
They were all old men. They would all die in a few years, and with them would die their reasons for hating John Fitzgerald Kennedy enough to attempt his assassination.
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