And so it begins... this Journal which is to be a record of the most horrifying, unbelievable, nightmarish experience through which I have ever lived. March the first will be certainly the great day in my life. That water shed from which all events must be dated before and after. For it was on March 1 that I was arrested "for conspiring with others to murder the President, John F. Kennedy."
Even as look at the words now it seems absolutely unbelievable that such a thing could come about. But it has, and it is important that I try to set down for myself and possibly others, the Kafkaesque horror which began on this date.
But, when the mind is numbed with horror, the heart frozen with apprehension, where does one find words to describe that which is almost indescribable?
Never the less, words must be found and a beginning must be made, and the story of March 1 actually begins on Christmas Eve, December 24, of last year. The day dawned very much like any other, a trifle overcast, rather warm for Christmas Eve, but in no way exceptional. I arose early, as I always do, rather like one of those plants which begins to unfold at the first touch of light no matter how late I may go to bed I am always up by 6 - 6:30 or at the very latest 7. On this particular Christmas Eve, I was up about 6:30 and had my usual three cups of coffee while I read the Times- Picayune. The Times-Picayune is such a very bad newspaper that it usually jolts and me sets my adrenalin flowing for the day. But, somehow, today it had simply a soporific effect and after my coffee and reading I felt the need of a little nap, so I went back to bed and was sleeping soundly when, at 9 A.M., the telephone rang.
"Hello, Mr. Shaw?"
"Yes."
"This is Detective Otillio of the District Attorney's office."
"Yes?'"
"Uh, the District Attorney wonders if you would mind coming down to his office to answer a few questions."
"I see no reason why not, but what about?"
"I can't tell you that, but, you haven't done anything wrong, its just that the DA thinks you have some information he could use."
"Okay," said I, "I'm a good citizen, I'll be glad to."
"Good, Mr. Shaw, I'll pick you up in about half an hour. Will that give you enough time?"
I assured him that it would, and in about half an hour, I was dressed, bathed, shaved and waiting for Detective Otillio.
Somewhat to my surprise, he arrived with Layton Martens, explaining that Layton also had some information the DA wanted and since he was staying in the neighborhood, he thought it would be convenient to bring us both up to the DA's office together. I was considerably surprised by this since I really did not know Layton well. I had met him about two years ago and had, on perhaps eight or ten occasions, had him to the house for drinks and a chess game. He is a bright young man about 24, a student at SLC in Lafayette, where he is studying the chello [sic].
I found it very difficult to think of any incident about which the DA would need any information which would include Layton Marten and myself. Unless, of course, it was the person who had introduced us to each other. But, during our ride out to headquarters we discussed Tom and it turned out that he was in New England for the Christmas holidays. We, therefore, arrived at the DA's office without any information on my part as to what the questioning could possibly be about.
At the DA's office we were separated, Layton being taken by an assistant DA named Ivon and I was taken to the office of Asst. District Attorney Sciambra. Sciambra was and is a very polite fellow, about 28, chunky but well built, dark eyes, dark hair, Italianish. However, like all the DA's assistants, and indeed the DA himself, he wore a pistol, which I found rather unnecessarily dramatic. Once I was settled in his office, I wanted to know exactly why I had been asked out there and he explained that the DA's office was still interested in the Kennedy assassination. He told me further that information had been received that during his stay in New Orleans, Oswald had been associating with someone named Clay who lived in the French Quarter and of course they had thought about me. I assured him that I had never met Oswald and then told them the story of the distribution of leaflets. It seems that one day during the summer of 1963, Oswald had appeared at the International Trade Mart office and had talked to J.B. Dauenhaur, my assistant. He had asked JB's permission to distribute leaflets in front of the building, which were issued by the Fair Play for Cuba Committee. J.B. told him he had no permission to do anything of the sort, but this apparently did not deter Mr. Oswald. At any rate, about 2:30 in the afternoon, someone came in and said there was a big commotion going on in front of the Trade Mart. Someone was passing out leaflets and TV cameras were there, as were the police. At the moment I was involved with a long distance call and said I would come down as soon as this was over, but by the time I had finished and got out in front of the building, the TV men were packing up their cameras, Mr. Oswald had disappeared somewhere and the police cars were departing. I put it down as just another nut --- God knows we had our share of them in and around the International Trade Mart --- and thought no more about it. Indeed I had forgotten it completely until in talking to J.B. from San Francisco after the assassination, he reminded me of the incident and said this was the man who was now charged as being the President's assassin. I explained to Sciambra that I had not at any time had an opportunity to see Oswald, and had never met him under any other circumstances and added what turned out to be a very ironic remark --- that it was perhaps unfortunate that I did not because then I might possibly have had a tiny footnote in history.
And so, today, I began the first day of what may be many days appearance in Court. Eddie picked me up at Marilyn's at 8:30 and we went to his office where we met Irving and Billy. It turns out that on the previous afternoon after we had left the parking lot, a revolver had been found tucked into one of the tires lying about the place. Also during the night some ex-con had telephoned his Warden in the prison where he had been, saying he was in New Orleans, had a shotgun and was going out in a blaze of glory. I somehow felt that neither of these things were a threat to me, but they were enough to convince even Eddie that we should arrive by the Sheriff's entrace, rather than by the front door, which is, of course, his preference. We therefore drove out to the prison, went into the Sheriff's entrance, having to push and make our way through some two hundred photographers and pressmen who wanted pictures of me sitting in the back seat of the car.
Once inside we were taken up through the prison and then into Judge Baggert's courtroom. Sitting there, waiting for Court to start I was struck by the strangest sense of unreality, and it did not seem that this could possibly be happening to me, but at 10:30 it was made real by the appearance of the three judges on the bench. Judge Baggert was now flanked by Judge O'Hara and Judge Braniff. O'Hara is a small man with dark hair and a sharp intelligent face; Braniff rather bigger, blond and blue-eyed, obviouly a very impatient man and one I understand whose mind is hard to change once it is made up. It became clear, shortly in the hearing, that Judge Braniff was inclined to agree with Judge Baggert, and, generally speaking, Judge O'Hara was not. Therefore, Judge Baggert who had added the two men to relieve him of responsibility found that quite often he would have to carry the crucial and deciding vote.
To open the proceedings we filed a motion protesting the legality of the three-judge court and we also asked that the indictment be quashed. We asked also, that, if the three judges were to sit, we be informed of how each Judge voted on a motion. Baggert denied all motions and said that he would announce the ruling of the Court and that we were not entitled to know how each of the other Judges voted on any matter they would deliberate as a unit.
We had learned early in the morning that the star witness of the preliminary hearing was to be one Perry Russo, about whom I knew nothing whatsoever, except that he was a Baton Rouge insurance salesman, whose name had entered the papers several days previously when he had come forward offering to give information to the DA. The proceedings began with some technical witnesses to the death of Ferrie and the introduction of various photographs and other exhibits. However, things livened up considerably when Perry Russo took the stand.
He is a man of about 25, dark intelligent black eyes, black straight hair, slightly pock-marked skin. Although he tried to convey an air of straight forwardness, he managed to convey, to me at least, a very devious sense of character.
The details of his testimony are contained in the transcript of the preliminary hearing which I am including in this Journal. However, it was very difficult for me to sit there without showing any emotion, which I had been told by my lawyers not to do; as this young man poured out an incredible story that he had seen me at a party at Dave Ferrie's, and that, after everyone else left, Dave Ferrie, a man he identlfied as Lee Oswald, obviously Lee Harvey Oswald, and myself discussed in his presence the killing of the President.
Aside from any question of guilt or innocence, anyone who knows me knows that I would have better sense than to plot with two nuts like that in the presence of a 22-year old boy I'd never seen before. Nevertheless, he swept through his evidence under questioning by the DA and by noon had developed a good deal of his story.
At noon we adjourned and went to the Legal Aid Bureau which they allowed us to use as our headquarters. We had received a note from someone that said they felt that Perry Russo was under post-hypnotic suggestion and it seemed to us significant that Dr. Fatter sat continuously during his testimony at a chair placed for him at the DA's table. We called Howard Lief, who is a friend of mine and head of the Tulane Psychiatric Department and Harold told us it would be quite difficult, indeed impossible, even for an expert to tell whether or not a person was testifying under post- hypnotic suggestion. We were very busy during the noon recess, having people run down various points that had come up during the morning's testimony. Oliver Carrier and Sam Panzeca from Billy's office doing most of the leg work. During the noon hour I mentioned to Irving that I had never met Perry Russo, but that I was certain that his face looked somehow familiar. Possibly this came about from having seen his pictures in the newspapers. Irving said he didn't think the newspaper picture was sufficiently like him to justify the feeling. It was all of course cleared up in the afternoon when he told the story of having come to my gate on Tuesday February 28, under the disguise of selling me insurance, all of which was brought out in the testimony.
During the noon recess, Nina appeared calm, smiling and like an angel of good cheer in the midst of a terrible nightmare. It was very refreshing to talk to her and I was deeply grateful for her taking the time to come to see me. She is in charge of the tickets of admission to the courtroom, where there has been a great deal of precaution taken by the deputies. Only newspeople or people having special passes from the court were admitted. Everyone had to be frisked by a deputy before they could enter.
During the afternoon the session continued and Mr. Russo continued his story under questioning from the DA. Court adjoined [sic] about 4 o'clock and, making our way again through the mob of pressmen waiting at the Sheriff's entrance, Irving, Billy, Eddie and myself drove to his office where we discussed the case thoroughly. Later Eddie took me down to Marilyn's where we heard the news and I saw the newspaper stories, which of course were graphic indeed.
The highlight of the day, of course, was the dramatic moment when Perry Russo came and stood behind my chair and identified me as Clem Bertrand. None of us can figure out why he should use Clem instead of Clay, which was the alias the District Attorney had been insisting that I used.
Today I awoke to the realization that this is my 54th birthday and I had some grave thoughts as to what I had managed to accomplish in the past 54 years. I felt that, like most people, I had gone ahead and done the best I could but it seems that I have very little to show for the 54 years I have passed upon this earth. There was a card from Marjorie and one from Marilyn, wishing me a happy birthday and, later in the day, I found a heavy volume of mail at Eddie's office, to which my mail is now being sent. Eddie picked me up as usual and we went to his office for conference with Irving and Billy before going to Court. They assured me that in all probability I would be bound over for trial, for two reasons: first of all the evidence of Russo had not been completely discredited, although it would be in time; and secondly, it being a matter of such importance, the three judges would hesitate to take upon themselves the authority of discharging me. In any event, it is a matter of little importance, since even if they do not find enough evidence to bind me over, I could be re-arrested by the District Attorney on the basis of a Grand Jury indictment and the case would go right on.
Apparently, the newspaper had carried something concerning my 54 birthday for Judge Baggert, when he entered the Court, very merrily wished me a happy birthday, which I found rather ironic under the circumstances. In addition to the completing of the cross-examination of Russo, the State in the afternoon entered their final witness, a negro named Vernon Bundy, whom I had never seen before. The essence of his testimony was that some four years ago when he was on the lakefront trying to find a lonely spot to give himself a shot of heroin, he saw two men, one of whom he identified as me and one Lee Harvey Oswald, arguing on the lakefront. I, according to his testimony, gave Oswald a roll of bills and departed in a big black limousine. Mr. Oswald, in putting the money into his pocket, dislodged a circular which fell out and which Bundy later picked up. He remembers that on it the words "Cuba." The extreme improbability of his testimony was highlighted by the fact that, under cross-examination, he admitted he had never told this story to anybody until yesterday when some detectives from the DA's office came to his cell and he then told it to them. The question arises, of course, as to how they could have possibly known about this story if he had never told it to anyone. As a matter of fact, the entire introduction of Mr. Bundy into the hearing seems to me to be an almost contemptuous gesture towards the Judges, saying in effect "If you want a little more evidence to bind this man over, here it is. Never mind its quality, its evidence, after all."
During the noon recess, Nina had come to see me as usual and had told me that it was possible and probable that I would be bound over, for which I was prepared. She said also, however, that it was possible my bail might be increased very greatly and she assured me that if the sum reached an amount which would be punitive, she thought I should go ahead and go to jail, rather than bear this great cost. She assured me that she had made arrangements with Sheriff Hyde that I would have a private cell, directly across from her office, and that I would be added to her list of prisoners she was working with for rehabilitation. She admitted, of course, that the idea of going to jail was not a romantic one, but she also pointed out, with much good sense, that whereever [sic] I was for the time until the trial finally arrived, I would, in a sense, be in jail. I thanked her very deeply for her efforts and told her I would talk the whole matter over with Eddie. It was Eddie's feeling that the bail might be increased and he, too, was of the opinion that we should not pay any punitive amount of bail. Rather, he thought that I should spend the weekend in jail and that on Monday morning a writ for habeas corpus, based on excessive bail, would be filed in Federal Court and that I could then be released. As in all things, I was totally prepared to take his recommendation. But as it turned out, at the end of the hearing the bail was not increased and none of the provisions or precautions were necessary.
The summing up of the case for me was extremely well done by Billy, pointing out the various flaws and defects in the case that the District Attorney had presented. There was a long conference in the Judges chambers among the three judges, the Assistant DA and my lawyers. It appeared that O'Hara was not inclined to bind me over, but the other two were, and they finally prevailed upon him to join them. In any event, about five o'clock, the Court sat again and handed down the unanimous decision that I was to be bound over and held for a formal trial.
Back to Eddie's office and there I executed for him a power of attorney which made it possible to sell the property at 714 Toulouse Street and to take the some $18,000 cash proceeds and administer them for me in my defense, as he thought best.
Although I had not dared to hope that the whole matter would be dropped at the end of the preliminary hearing, since my lawyers pointed out the difficulties inherent in this, I really had hoped against hope that this might be the case. We must now wait for arraignment, the filing of special pleadings, a reply to the pleadings by the DA's office also, the decision of the judge, and then the setting of the trial date. It seems agreed by my attorneys and by the DA's office also, that the trial will not probably come about in less than three to six months. This is a long time to live under the conditions in which I am living. Nevertheless, as I have said before, one does have a source of strength one does not know about, and I have resolved that I can take anything that life can throw against me, for I am sure I shall survive.
Marilyn, as always, was extremely sympathetic and after the usual good dinner, cards and drinks, I went to bed with a pill and slept very well, considering the circumstances.
The press of course had a field day with the entire preliminary hearing and there have been many descriptions of my grim expressions, my chain smoking, etc, etc. etc. One of the curious things about Russo's testimony, was that he did not feel that we had made any definite plans for the assassination of the President but had talked about it in general terms. He did say, of course, that there was much talk about the need for a scape goat, and that none of the three of us could possibly appear at the time of the assassination. It was agreed, according to him, that Ferrie was to go to Hammond, I would be on the West Coast traveling for my firm, as he put it, and it wasn't very clear what was going to happen to Harvey Lee Oswald [sic]. Another startling defect in his testimony was his insistence that the man he had known as Leon Oswald, and whom he identified as Ferrie's roommate, had always been very unkempt, unshaven, with lots of hair. In fact, he was not able to identify Leon Oswald as Lee Harvey Oswald until a police artist had sketched an unshaven beard onto the chin of the photograph he had originally been shown. This of course was directly contrary to all the evidence of people who knew Oswald which indicates that he was psychopathically neat and tidy in his personal appearance. The other incredible part of his story is that Oswald lived with his wife until September 23 and she returned to Dallas and then he himself left for Mexico on the 25th, which would have given him very little time to be Mr. Ferrie's roommate. Above all, the real damaging thing in Russo's testimony is why he did not come forward previously. He says he was busy with school work, had a lot of things on his mind, didn't want to push himself on people, felt the FBI knew what they were doing, and therefore he felt no necessity as a citizen to come forward and describe to the FBI the assassination plot he alleges he overheard sometime in late September or early October, in the apartment of Ferrie. This is manifestly absurd, as is the notion that I would ever undertake such a plot under the conditions he describes.
I can only assume that he is acting out of self-interest, or for publicity, or because he has been hypnotized and this information fed to him. He is certainly not averse to publicity, and some very rapid investigation on the part of our people indicates that he has a very bad reputation in several areas, particularly for his operations in the French Quarter. He has also, by his own admission, been under psychiatric treatment for some time. All in all, not a very reliable witness, but sufficient for the DA to have me bound over. More of that later.
A quiet day in the hospital and a restful one, which I needed.
Dr. Grunston did come to see me in the afternoon to examine me. I had learned from ZMartin [sic] that he had had a good deal of trouble getting him to consult on the case. When he first called him, he asked only that he come in for consultation and Dr. Grunston said he saw no reason why he should, said he did not know Martin and had never been called in before. In fact, he said, he would just as soon have nothing to do with a patient as notorious as myself. However, when Martin told him that Eddie Wegmann had suggested that he be called in, this changed his attitude and he agreed to examine and treat me. It is obvious that all the world is not composed of Marty's, and that there are a good many people in the opposing camp. In any event, Dr. Grunsten did come and examine me and the x-rays and finally told me that I had two crushed spinal vertebrae, which of course I knew already. He gave me some medication, a muscle relaxant I assume, which did do some good and I found considerable relief late in the day.
In checking over the newspapers, many of which I missed during the period of the trial because of my preoccupation with my own problems, I find that two new names entered the case. The first was Gordon Novel, whom the District Attorney wishes to question about some aspect of the case. I can't imagine what it could be. I have known Gordon for some five or six years but always as a promoter and impresario of shows. He first came to see me at the Trade Mart some four or five years ago, having done two automobile shows at the Municipal Auditorium, and was most anxious that he be engaged by us to stage an international trade show. We were not in the position to do so but every now and then Gordon would appear in my office with some promotional idea, to all of which I had to say no. He is young, was about 25 when we met, fast talking, glib, a perfect promoter type. He disappeared from view a year or so ago to head, with Tommy Lupo, the Louisiana Pavilion at the Worlds Fair in New York, which turned out to be the fiasco of all time. The building never seemed to get finished, everybody was suing everybody for several million dollars and it was a real mess.
Gordon returned to New Orleans, came to see me to tell me about all the difficulties and also to try to work out some job arrangement. He was most anxious to have the job of managing the new Exhibition Hall, but I told him that we were not yet in a position to talk about that. He also once made a proposal to me for taking over the concessions in the hall in the same way as Tommy Lupo had for the auditorium but I talked this over with Lloyd Cobb, our President, and he said we were not ready for any action on this front as yet. Periodically, Gordon would come in to see me, telling me of the progress of his lawsuits and also his domestic difficulties, inasmuch as he seemed to be getting a divorce. It was finally decided that we were not to have the management of the International Exhibition facility. I broke the news to Gordon and told him that any attempts to get that job would have to be made to the Dock Board, but I agreed to recommend to Colonel Lewis and the Dock Board that they talk to Gordon and give him every consideration because of his experience and background in such matters, I am at a loss to understand how he can possibly have any relation to the assassination probe but it will be interesting to learn what his testimony is.
The other name mentioned is one Mr. Arcacha Smith, who it is claimed was active in anti-Castro activity in New Orleans during 1961. I do not remember either his face or his name but I do recall vaguely that around that period Mario Bermudez had asked me to provide free office space in the Trade Mart for some man who was working to help Cuban refugees who were looking for employment. This may well have been the man. However, as I say, I cannot recall. I do think we gave him some space for some two or three weeks but I don't recall how long he stayed and can't even remember what he looks like. I must check with Goldie and Beryl on this to see if Mr. Arcacha Smith is the gentleman in question.
The day was, on the whole, restful and uneventful and I read most of the time. At nine my delightful night nurse appeared with my sleeping pill and I promptly went to bed and to sleep.
I awoke this morning at seven at Lois and Lawrence's to the incredible realization that as of today I have been under arrest How do I feel? Well, the first sense of shock has worn off a little bit, and, as a matter of fact, I think my stay at Xavier Hall did more to cure this aspect of my problem than anything else. It is true I am still dismayed to find myself charged with the most heinous crime of the century. But I am completely innocent, and the feeling of being a stunned animal, which marked the first part of the month, seems to have gone now. It would appear that one can get used to living with anything, even the bizarre situation in which I find myself. There is, of course, still a sense of outrage, a feeling of "Why should this happen to me?" And yet, if I think about it, why should it not happen to me. No one has any guarantee when he is born that the most outrageous and horrible things will not happen to him. It would be nice, of course, if we had some sort of guarantee of a pleasant life tattooed around our navel at birth, but that simply isn't the case. I think sometimes this is the most terrible thing that could happen to me and yet, again, when I review the matter, I wonder: suppose instead of being arrested I had, like Chuck, gone to the doctor with a pain in my shoulder to be told that I had terminal lung cancer and would be dead in six months. That would have been bad news, indeed.
There are occasional moments of despair, I must admit, but a little prayer usually cures these. Despair, seems to me, [is] the worst sin into which the human soul can fall. Even worse than pride, which is probably the next worst and my moments of absolute black despair are increasingly rare. I am trying to take the whole matter stoically, , and I think often of T. Elliott's line:
" To stand, without craving or aversion,
At the still point of the turning world"
This, after all, is all that one can do; for, faced with a situation of this sort, there are only three alternatives: one) you kill yourself; two) you go crazy and thereby blot the matter out; or, three), you can endure. I think that I will endure.
I do have some fears about money, because this is going to be an enormously costly business and I am not sure of being able to recoup financially. I had planned my retirement so carefully, having determined the point on the actuarial tables, where I would probably die, and had prepared myself to live to this point, and, indeed, a little beyond. This case, of course, will change all that. However, the French have a proverb which says that: "Wounds which come from money are seldom fatal." And my particular interests and activities right now are to get this whole matter cleared up and then we will see what we will see about finances.
In addition to the feelings of shock, outrage and despair, I really feel that I should feel some hatred for Mr. Garrison for having put me and himself in this idiotic and incredible position. And yet, I do not. Even though I know that the adrenalin which poured into my veins might be useful in this particular connection. To some degree, this might be the truth; but, psychologically, hatred puts one in bondage to the object of one's hatred and this bondage I refuse to accept. There is no doubt in my mind now, that Mr. Garrison is sick --- if not in the actual clinical sense, at least in an aggravated form of that lust for power and domination over others which is the hallmark of our society; and of course, it is not easy to hate anyone who is ill and who is behaving as his illness directs.
As to the case itself, it still seems so very strange and obscure. For example, the morning news says that Gordon Novel is in Montreal but is preparing to return to New Orleans. What Gordon Novel has to do with anything, I have no idea. Meanwhile, Mr Andrews has been granted a Motion for Hearing on his lawyer's motion to quash the perjury indictment against him on the grounds that it does not conform with the Code. Actually, it seems to me that Garrison was quite sure that Andrews would identify me as Clay Bertrand, and that his faiure to do so has been serious setback for the DA.
The only other news of any interest was that the date of my arraignment has been set for next Wednesday before Judge Hagerty. Next Wednesday will mark six weeks since my arrest and it will certainly be a pleasure to stand up before some judicial person and say that I am not guilty. As a matter of fact, I don't even do that it seems. A lawyer does. It is incredible that one stands under arrest for six weeks without ever having been asked whether or not you are guilty of the crime charged. Nevertheless, that seems to be the way the matter works The remainder of the day I spent in conferences with Eddie, had dinner with Louis and Lawrence and decided to stay there yet again tonight, since I do not propose to move back into my house until next Monday. And so for one month this incredible and bizarre drama has been played. Tomorrow I take up the burden of the second month in supporting the insupportable, tolerating the intolerable and bearing the unbearable.
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