BUSH - DEVINE

CIA Helped Bush Senior In Oil Venture

By Russ Baker and Jonathan Z. Larsen | The Real News Project

http://www.ctka.net/zapata.html

January 8, 2007 

NEW YORK--Newly released internal CIA documents assert that former president George Herbert Walker Bush's oil company emerged from a 1950's collaboration with a covert CIA officer.
Bush has long denied allegations that he had connections to the intelligence community prior to 1976, when he became Central Intelligence Agency director under President Gerald Ford. At the time, he described his appointment as a 'real shocker.'

But the freshly uncovered memos contend that Bush maintained a close personal and business relationship for decades with a CIA staff employee who, according to those CIA documents, was instrumental in the establishment of Bush's oil venture, Zapata, in the early 1950s, and who would later accompany Bush to Vietnam as a "cleared and witting commercial asset" of the agency.

According to a CIA internal memo dated November 29, 1975, Bush's original oil company, Zapata Petroleum, began in 1953 through joint efforts with Thomas J. Devine, a CIA staffer who had resigned his agency position that same year to go into private business. The '75 memo describes Devine as an "oil wild-catting associate of Mr. Bush." The memo is attached to an earlier memo written in 1968, which lays out how Devine resumed work for the secret agency under commercial cover beginning in 1963.

"Their joint activities culminated in the establishment of Zapata Oil," the memo reads. In fact, early Zapata corporate filings do not seem to reflect Devine's role in the company, suggesting that it may have been covert. Yet other documents do show Thomas Devine on the board of an affiliated Bush company, Zapata Offshore, in January, 1965, more than a year after he had resumed work for the spy agency.

It was while Devine was in his new CIA capacity as a commercial cover officer that he accompanied Bush to Vietnam the day after Christmas in 1967, remaining in the country with the newly elected congressman from Texas until January 11, 1968. Whatever information the duo was seeking, they left just in the nick of time. Only three weeks after the two men departed Saigon, the North Vietnamese and their Communist allies launched the Tet offensive with seventy thousand troops pre-positioned in more than 100 cities and towns.
While the elder Bush was in Vietnam with Devine, George W. Bush was making contact with representatives of the Texas Air National Guard, using his father's connections to join up with an elite, Houston-based Guard unit - thus avoiding overseas combat service in a war that the Bushes strongly supported.

The new revelation about George H.W. Bush's CIA friend and fellow Zapata Offshore board member will surely fuel further speculation that Bush himself had his own associations with the agency.

Indeed, Zapata's annual reports portray a bewildering range of global activities, in the Mideast, Asia and the Caribbean (including off Cuba) that seem outsized for the company's modest bottom line. In his autobiography, Bush declares that "I'd come to the CIA with some general knowledge of how it operated' and that his 'overseas contacts as a businessman' justified President Nixon's appointing him as UN ambassador, a decision that at the time was highly controversial.

Previously disclosed FBI files include a memo from bureau director J. Edgar Hoover, noting that his organization had given a briefing to two men in the intelligence community on November 23, 1963, the day after the assassination of John F. Kennedy. The memo refers to one as "Mr. George Bush of the Central Intelligence Agency" and the other as "Captain William Edwards of the Defense Intelligence Agency."
When Nation magazine contributor Joseph McBride first uncovered this document in 1988, George Herbert Walker Bush, then vice president and seeking the presidency, insisted through a spokesman that he was not the man mentioned in the memo: "I was in Houston, Texas, at the time and involved in the independent oil drilling business. And I was running for the Senate in late '63. I don't have any idea of what he's talking about." The spokesman added, "Must be another George Bush."

When McBride approached the CIA at that time, it initially invoked a policy of neither confirming nor denying anyone's involvement with the agency. But it soon took the unusual step of asserting that the correct individual was a George William Bush, a one-time Virginia staffer whom the agency claimed it could no longer locate. But that George Bush, discovered in his office in the Social Security Administration by McBride, noted that he was a low-ranked coast and landing-beach analyst and that he most certainly never received such an FBI briefing.

It was perhaps to help lay to rest the larger matter of the elder Bush's past associations that the former president went out of his way during his recent eulogy for President Ford to sing the praises of the Warren Commission Report as the final authority on those days.

"After a deluded gunman assassinated President Kennedy, our nation turned to Gerald Ford and a select handful of others to make sense of that madness. And a conspiracy theorist can say what they will, but the Warren Commission report will always have the final definitive say on this tragic matter. Why? Because Gerry Ford put his name on it and Gerry Ford's word was always good."

In fact, Ford's role on the Warren Commission is seen by many experts as a decisive factor in his rise to the top. As a Commission member, Ford altered its report in a significant way. As the Associated Press reported in 1997, "Thirty-three years ago, Gerald R. Ford took pen in hand and changed - ever so slightly - the Warren Commission's key sentence on the place where a bullet entered John F. Kennedy's body when he was killed in Dallas. The effect of Ford's change was to strengthen the commission's conclusion that a single bullet passed through Kennedy and severely wounded Texas Gov. John Connally - a crucial element in its finding that Lee Harvey Oswald was the sole gunman."

This modification played a seminal role in ending talk of a larger conspiracy to kill the president. Knowledge of Ford's alteration has encouraged theorists to scrutinize the constellation of other figures who might have had a motivation to cover up the affair.

Meanwhile, there is much more to learn about George H. W. Bush's friend, Thomas Devine. The newly surfaced memos explain that Devine, from 1963 on, had authority from the agency to operate under commercial cover as part of an agency project code-named WUBRINY.

Devine at that time was employed with the Wall Street boutique Train, Cabot and Associates, described in the memos as an "investment banking firm which houses and manages the [CIA] proprietary corporation WUSALINE." These nautical names - 'Saline' and 'Briny' - or, for the Bay of Pigs invasion 'Wave' - are CIA cryptonyms for the programs and companies involved.

George H.W. Bush's own ties are amplified in the 1975 CIA memo, dated November 29, which makes it clear that he had knowledge of CIA operations prior to being named the new director of the CIA in the fall of that year.

The 1975 memo notes that, through his relationship with Devine, "Mr George Bush [the CIA director-designate] has prior knowledge of the now terminated project WUBRINY/LPDICTUM which was involved in proprietary commercial operations in Europe."

The Bush documents, part of a batch of 300,000 records the CIA provided to the House Select Committee on Assassinations, were publicly released in 1998 as the result of a lawsuit, donated to a foundation, scanned into a database - and only just noticed by an independent researcher.

Click the following to view original supporting documents: [1] [2] [3]

Russ Baker, founder of the Real News Project, and Jonathan Z. Larsen, Real News editorial board member, are at work on a book about George W. Bush and the Bush clan, due out later this year. They may be reached at: 

JFK Air Force One Replica

Project taking place in Augusta

This November will mark 50 years since the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in Texas and the subsequent swearing in of President Lyndon Johnson aboard Air Force One.

http://www.andoveramerican.com/article/20130510/NEWS/130519859/1001/NEWS

By Jeremy Costello
Augusta Gazette

Updated May. 10, 2013 @ 9:19 pm

This November will mark 50 years since the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in Texas and the subsequent swearing in of President Lyndon Johnson aboard Air Force One.

The Nu-Tek Simulations division of Nu-Tek Aircraft Instruments Inc. of Augusta, has begun conducting the restoration and configuration of a replica plane the company will present in the first-ever JFK Air Force One Exhibit at Love Field, Dallas in November.

Kansas Aviation Museum gave a one-time sneak peak at the behind-the-scenes construction in preparation for a public viewing at the Cockpit Fest this weekend at the museum.

Inside the plane, the president's quarters, crew officers' work stations and the state room where Johnson was sworn in as president already have desks and chairs to help form outlines, and there is a communication station just outside the cockpit door. But much is still in the works. Steve Cannaby of Nu-Tek Simulation is the project director who leads the 10 or so workers, including some Boeing IDS volunteers, during the construction phase. Cannaby and his crew have plenty of experience with planes.

"We've done other Air Force One projects before. We did one for the Ronald Reagan Library, and we did one for the 2008 DNC," Cannaby said.

The replica plane originally had a Nixon configuration after being used in the 1995 Oliver Stone film "Nixon" before getting sold to current owner Jim Warlick.

Reconfiguring the replica to match JFK's plane has had its challenges.

"It's a daunting task," Cannaby said. "The airplane is old, 707 parts are extremely hard to come by [as is] all of the Kennedy information, because they only flew it for less than a year....The photography and the images and data we have is limited."

Nu-Tek representative Daron Clinesmith brings a unique perspective to help contribute to the replica's design. Clinesmith once served as a crew member aboard Air Force One during the 1980s and knows what it was like to fly with the president firsthand. If nothing else, Clinesmith wants to help give people a taste of real history.

"It's really neat on the history side. It's pretty significant," Clinesmith said of the JFK project. "We're doing it respectfully...It's kind of neat to see this come together and be a part of that remembrance of that day. It's a sad day, but it's also one of the significant points of time in history."

After its inaugural display in Texas, the JFK Exhibit will be part of a traveling exhibit that will make its way around the country.

NARA RELEASES

NARA has released a listing of 170 entries that have completed declassification processing between December 7, 2012 and April 24, 2013 and are now available for researcher request. This release records from both military and civilian agencies.

Highlights include:

Records from the U.S. Army Intelligence Center, Fort Holabird,

Naval Ordnance Systems Command records related to the Port Chicago Explosion,

Atomic Energy Commission Patent Files,

Country and Subject Files from the United States Information Agency,

Naval Air Systems Command Research and Development Files,

Far East Air Force Headquarters Bomber Command Korean Conflict Era Correspondence,

Tariff and Trade records from the Bureau of Foreign and Domestic Commerce, and

Air Force records from Wright-Patterson, Langley, Arnold, Scott and Andrews Air Force Bases.

Requests to access the newly released records or to order copies should be directed to Archives 2 Reference at 301-837-3510 or archives2reference@nara.gov.

(When making a request, please cite the HMS Entry and Series Title.)

John Newman Conclusion: Beginning

John Newman - “Oswald and the CIA” - Chapter 20 Conclusion: Beginning

The JFK murder case cannot be truly closed before it has been genuinely opened. It was a tribute to the insanity that has surrounded the subject when, in the fall of 1993, the American national media leveled inordinate praise on a book whose author was attempting to close the case just as the government’s files were being opened. That opening was created by the passage of the JFK Records Act in 1992, a law that mandates that the American government must make available all its information on the case.

(Many) years and millions of pages later, there is much that remains closed. Like a huge oil spill, a glut of black “redactions” is still strewn across the pages that have been released. The real opening of this case is in its early stages. But we have finally arrived at the beginning.

For more than three decades the rules for how the case has been presented in the national media were these: The government hast he facts, citizens who do not believe the official version of events guess and make mistakes, and the apologists for the official version poke fun at the people who venture their guesses.

That game is finished. The rules have changed. The law is now on the side of our right to know as much of the truth about this case as does the government. The only guessing-game left is how much damage to the national psyche has been inflicted in the futile attempt to keep the truth hidden.

The threat to the Constitution posed by the post-World War II evolution of unbridled power and sometimes lawless conduct of the intelligence agencies is grave.

The level of public confidence in American government is now at a crisis stage.

The moment that the JFK Records Act was passed in 1992, the Kennedy case became a test for American democracy. It is no longer a matter of whether American institutions were subverted in 1963 and 1964, but whether they can function today.

For this reason, adherents on both sides of the Kennedy assassination debate would do well to keep their eyes on the work of the intelligence agencies and the Review Board. If excuses begin to build, and the exceptions game begins anew, a golden opportunity to reverse this country’s slide into cynicism will be lost. The interests of neither side in the debate are served by that outcome. No intelligence source or method can be weighed on the same scale as the trust of the people in their institutions. That this state of distrust has persisted and has been allowed to fester is as tragic as the assassination. It is an unhealed wound on the American body politic.

The purpose of this book is to carry out an examination of the internal records on Oswald in light of the newly released materials. The attempts to resolve the continuing riddles and mysteries of the Oswald file offered here are first impressions. They may change as new information comes to light. It is safe to state now, however, that American intelligence agencies were far more interested in Oswald than the public has been left to believe….

Oswald’s Cuban Escapades

It was Oswald’s Fair Play for Cuba Committee that led to the “smoking file” described in Chapter Nineteen. His FPCC activities set off alarm bells at the FBI and its field offices in Washington, New York, New Orleans, and Dallas, and at CIA. Both organizations had long been actively involved in operations against the FPCC. Just as the Soviet Realities Branch at the CIA had earlier developed an operational interest in Oswald. It is difficult to proceed with certainty because the public record contains cover stories. All we can say for sure is that the Special Affairs Staff, the location for anti-Cuban operations, was discussing (with the FBI) an operation to discredit the FPCC in a foreign country at the time of Oswald’s visit to Mexico, and that the CIA has been denying what it known about Oswald’s Cuban activities ever since.

The record of Oswald’s stay in New Orleans, May to September 1963, is replete with mistakes, coincidences, and other anomalies. As Oswald engaged in pro-Castro and anti-Castro activities, the FBI says they lost track of him. The Army was monitoring his activities and says it destroyed their reports. The record of his propaganda operations in New Orleans published by the Warren Commission turned out to have been deliberately falsified. A surprising number of the characters in Oswald’s New Orleans episode turned out to be informants or contract agents of the CIA. The FBI jailhouse interview with Oswald, which focused on the FPCC, was suppressed until after Oswald returned from Mexico.

The story of Oswald’s return from Mexico become even more murkier….

What Does This Do For The Case?

The CIA was far more interested in Oswald than they have ever admitted to publicly…While we are unclear on the precise reasons for the CIA’s pre-assassination withholding of information on Oswald, we have yet to find documentary evidence for an institutional plot in the CIA to murder the president. The facts do not compel such a conclusion. If there had been such a plot, many of the documents we are reading - such as CIA cables to Mexico City, the FBI, State, and Navy - would never have been created. However the facts may well fit into other scenarios, such as the “renegade faction” hypothesis. Oswald appears - from the perspective of a potential conspirator with access - to have been a tempting target for involvement because of the sensitivity of his files. It is prudent to remember when speculating about where the argument goes from here that the government and the Review Board have yet to deliver what the Records Act promised: full disclosure.

On the other hand, we can say with some authority that the CIA was spawning a web of deception about Oswald weeks before the president’s murder, a fact that may have directly contributed to the outcome in Dallas. Is it possible that when Oswald turned up with a rifle on the president’s motorcade route, the CIA found itself living in an unthinkable nightmare of its own making?

What Price Secrecy?

It is a shame that protecting sources and methods may have contributed to the president’s murder. Each day these secrets are kept from the public only does more harm. Cover stories, deceptions, and penetrations are kinds of secrets the CIA and FBI will fight hardest to protect. Yet they are clearly the kinds of secrets whose release would signal that the promise of full disclosure has been kept.

We are reading documents that were inappropriately denied to the House of Representatives investigations in 1978. Congress created the CIA, and congressional oversight is not possible without access. It is especially wrong for the CIA to withhold information when it is being investigated by Congress.

The issues raised by the past conduct of our intelligence organizations must be discussed openly. Practical, effective solutions must be found. Tangible measure must be devised and implemented that will build reasonable constraints into the system and the public’s confidence in them. For example, no federal agency should ever be allowed to obstruct the course of justice in order to protect a source. This issue should not be politicized. It does not belong to the right or the left. It is one of the fundamental ethical issues of the late twentieth century….

The secrecy in which intelligence agencies conduct their operations has the unfavorable effect of insulating abuses from detection. So much time elapses before the facts are declassified that there is little interest left in reforming the aspects of the system that led to the abuse. As early as 1976 Henry Commager observed: “The fact is that the primary function of government secrecy in our time has not been to protect the nation against external enemies, but to deny the American people information essential to the functioning of democracy, to Congress the information essential to the functioning of the legislative branch, and - at times - to the president himself information which he should have to conduct his office. 3

A different criterion for secrecy - from the perspective of the people’s need to function effectively at eh ballot box - is needed. That might suggest, for example, that the basic period of classification be reduced to four or eight years, to coincide with the presidential rhythm of the national security apparatus.

Many of the political and social issues that have emerged from the history of the Kennedy assassination as a conspiracy “case” will find their resolution in years to come, when less will be at stake and American academe can discuss them safely. In the short term, there are compelling realities that must be faced. The moment the JFK Records Act was passed, we passed the point of no return. Not releasing the government’s files now does more harm than good.

As diverse a people we Americans are, we are unified by the democratic concepts we share: that ultimate power belongs with the people, and that the government cannot govern without the consent of the governed. For thirty years we have watched aghast as lie begat another and as one half-baked solution gave way to the next, and our confidence in our institutions slowly dissipated. At the heart of this situation is a relatively new development in American history: the emergence of enormously powerful national intelligence agencies.

As Commanger so eloquently observed twenty years ago: “The emergence of intelligence over the past quarter-century as an almost independent branch of the executive, largely immune from either political limitations or legal controls, poses constitutional questions graver than any since the Civil War and Reconstruction. The challenges of that era threatened the integrity and survival of the Union; the challenges of the present crisis threaten the integrity of the Constitution.”

The unsavory truth confronting American citizens, just as it confronts the citizens of Russia and China, is this: Unbridled power cannot reform itself. The reform of the intelligence system is something the people, not the intelligence agencies, must control.

Because the Kennedy assassination is but one instance of hiding the truth, the passage of the JFK Records Act and how honestly it works have implications for the government’s records in all cases where its acts are questionable in the eyes of the people.

The stakes are high, and include nothing less than the credibility of our institutions today. The present generation has the responsibility to hold the government accountable.

John Newman “Oswald and the CIA”  Epilogue, 2008

The Plot to Murder President Kennedy: A New Interpretation

The Plot and the National Security Cover-Up

My views on the assassination of President Kennedy have evolved in the … years since the publication of Oswald and the CIA.

While the six million records made available as a result of the 1993 congressional passage of the JFK Records Act have not made it possible to identify those who were ultimately responsible for the Kennedy assassination, these records do shed light on the nature and design of the plot and the national security cover-up that followed.

It is now clear that most of the U.S. leaders and officials who participated in the national security cover-up had nothing to do with the plot that was hatched before the president’s murder. Many of them - including leading legislators and Supreme Court Chief Justice Earl Warren - were motivated by the perceived threat of a nuclear exchange with the Soviet Union. Inside the executive branch of government, many others were motivated by the desire to protect their jobs and institutions. Their collective actions, however, were not the result of an accident; rather, they were the forced checkmate in the endgame of an ingenious plan.

The plan was designed to force official Washington to bury a radioactive story in Oswald’s files in order for America to survive.

The plan worked. No matter how sloppy the performance of the shooters in Dallas was, no matter how bungled the autopsy and the handling of evidence was, all would be trumped by the threat of WW III and 40 million dead Americans. From the beginning, the plot was based upon the assumption that, when presented with this horrific possibility, everyone would fall into line. The assumption was correct.….

In Mexico: Linking Oswald to Castro and Khrushchev to WWIII

…I do not know who directly handled Oswald in 1963, but someone involved in the murder of the president did.

Many researchers think they know who this person was and perhaps they do….Whether or not Oswald’s handler or handlers understood that their activities would lead to the death of the president, they were nevertheless taking cues from someone in CIA counterintelligence who was harnessed to the plot….

So who had the means and the insight to design such a plot? Here I offer my own speculation on the answer to that question, knowing that I might be wrong, or a little wrong, or perhaps right. I believe I have an obligation to offer my views on this and the obligation to admit that I might be wrong….

In my view, whoever Oswald’s direct handler or handlers were, we must seriously consider the possibility that (James Jesus) Angleton was probably the manager. No one else at the Agency had the access, the authority, and the diabolically ingenious mind to manage this sophisticated plot….The only person who could ensure that a national security cover-up of an apparent counterintelligence nightmare was the head of counterintelligence….

WHY OSAWLD IS INNOCENT

LEE HARVEY OSWALD - ASSASSIN OR PATSY?

Can you give Lee Harvey Oswald a break?

Can you give the accused assassin of President Kennedy the benefit of the doubt?

Do you support the time honored constitutional tradition of presumption of innocence - that is not the assumption of guilt, but presupposes suspects are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law?

Well Oswald was never convicted of anything in a court of law - other than disturbing the peace in New Orleans for giving out pro-Castro leaflets, and he was murdered while in police custody, which greatly reflects on the law enforcement officers who first considered Oswald a suspect.

Most people assume Oswald was either innocent and was framed as a patsy, as he claimed, or was a pawn in a larger conspiracy. Those few who still maintain that Oswald was the lone assassin also attribute to him the motive of seeking fame, as Judge Tunheim puts it, “I think his motivation is he thought he was supposed to be someone famous in his own mind, and if he did this he would be viewed with great glory in the Soviet Union and Cuba,” which belies the fact that he denied the deed.

Those predisposed to Oswald’s singular guilt also list the hard and circumstantial evidence that indicates - and proves to them, that Oswald shot the president from the Sixth Floor Sniper’s lair, even though no witness can place him there, as Dallas Chief Curry famously said, “we can’t place Oswald in that window.”

And those who did eyeball the sniper exonerate Oswald as they unanimously agree the gunman had a white shirt, while Oswald was wearing a distinctively brown one.

The evidence that Oswald shot the president consists of his rifle, found by the stairs on the Sixth Floor, which was sold through the mails to A.J. Hidell, an alias associated with Oswald, a clean, nearly complete bullet found at Parkland hospital that was shot through the barrel of that rifle, to the exclusion of all other rifles, and three shells found by the sniper’s window that were ejected from that rifle.

A palm print belatedly found beneath the rifle stock and on the box by the window were attributed to Oswald, but considered circumstantial because it was his rifle and it should have had his prints on it and he worked with the boxes so they don’t prove that he committed the crime.

One witness who actually saw the Sixth Floor Sniper in the white shirt also say he had a very distinctive bald spot on the top of his head, not Oswald, and other witnesses say that the gunman was in no hurry after firing the last shot, but instead stood back and viewed the chaos on the street.

A court clerk in an office diagonally across the street said she saw a man moving around in the Sixth Floor Sniper’s nest window three to five minutes AFTER the last shot was fired, definitely not Oswald as less than two minutes after the shooting he was seen in the second floor lunchroom.

Actually the witnesses who place Oswald in the second floor lunchroom ninety seconds after the last shot completely and positively exonerate Oswald as being the Sixth Floor Sniper, that is if you believe Dallas policeman Marion Baker and Texas School Book Depository (TSBD) supervisor Roy Truly. 

Baker stopped and parked his motorcycle in front of the TSBD and ran in the front door with gun drawn. There Truly identified himself and led Baker to the back elevators, but since they were parked together on the fifth floor, they began to ascend the stairs.

On the second floor they had to make a left hand turn to continue up to the third floor, but in making that turn, Baker said he saw the head of a man through the two by two foot glass door window. Proceeding to that door while Truly continued up the steps, Baker approached the door and saw a man walking away, towards the lunchroom soda machine.

Baker opened the door as Truly noticed that Baker wasn’t behind him and turned around and followed Baker into the lunchroom foyer.

On the other side of the door with the glass window was a small foyer that had a second door that led south towards the offices and restrooms.

Baker stopped the man, who turned around and looked quiscally at the policeman with his gun trained at him, when Truly arrived and said that the man - Lee Harvey Oswald, was an employee and okay. Both men agreed that Oswald was calm and not excited or out of breath, as he would have been if he had just got off three shots at the president, disposed of the rifle and ran down four flights of stairs in the past ninety seconds.

The proof of Oswald’s innocence of being the Sixth Floor Sniper is the fact that Baker saw Oswald’s head profile through the two foot by two foot - 24” x 24” door window.

If that is the case, then the door would have had to have been closed for Baker to have seen Oswald because if Oswald had gone through that door, the door would have been partially open and the size of the window decreased so you wouldn’t be able to see through it.

That door was closed when Baker saw Oswald walk past the window, having entered the foyer through the south door, which led to offices and an elevator and stairs that went down to the first floor and first floor “Domino Room,” where Oswald said he was eating his lunch at the time of the assassination. Oswald said that while there, there were two black men he worked with, and they testified that they were indeed there when Oswald said he saw them.

That Oswald didn’t walk through the door when Baker saw him through the window is further supported by the testimony of Roy Truly and x, a secretary who descended from the fourth floor at the same time Oswald would have had to been on the same stairway if he had run down the steps from the Sixth Floor.

If Oswald had gone through the door through which Baker saw him, then Roy Truly should have seen Oswald first, as he was ahead of Baker going up the stairs, but he didn’t see Oswald go through that door. If Oswald didn’t run down those steps and didn’t go through that door, he wasn’t the Sixth Floor Sniper.

Proof that the Secret Service was aware of this fact is evident in that Truly was recalled to testify under oath a second time, in the offices at the Post Office Annex just across Dealey Plaza from the TSBD, and asked only one question - was there an automatic door closing device on the door that Oswald is alleged to have gone through if he was the Sixth Floor Sniper and descended the steps immediately after the shooting but somehow avoided being seen by the fourth floor secretaries descending the same flight of stairs or Truly, who was ahead of Baker and should have seen Oswald if he did go through that door but didn’t.

The answer, which the WC attorneys could have learned by walking over to the TSBD and inspecting the door themselves, is yes, the door with the window through which Officer Baker saw the head of Oswald does have an automatic door closing device.

Although they twice tried to recreate the assassination as it allegedly happened, with Oswald hiding the rifle and descending the stairs in the ninety seconds before he is seen through the door window by Baker, they stop at that point - the Second Floor Lunchroom door, and don’t even try to recreate the roundabout path Oswald allegedly took to his rooming house, getting him to Tenth and Patton in time to kill Officer Tippit and then to the theater for his arrest.

That the door with the window through which Baker saw Oswald was closed is proof that Oswald didn’t go through that door, did not descend the steps from the Sixth Floor and was not the Sixth Floor Sniper in the white shirt and bald spot, who at the time Baker and Truly were confronting Oswald in the Second Floor Lunchroom, was still seen in the Sixth Floor window re-arranging boxes around, and therefore was not Oswald.

[Note: These observations were first documented by Michael Roffman in “Presumed Guilty,” which is available on line at Dave Ratcliff’s Rathouse.com ]

Shawn Phillips,

Shawn Phillips

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shawn_Phillips

Born February 3, 1943 (age 70)

Origin Fort Worth, Texas, United States

Genres Folk rock

Years active 1960s–present

Website www.shawnphillips.com

Shawn Phillips (born February 3, 1943, Fort Worth, Texas, USA) is a folk-rock musician, primarily influential in the 1960s and 1970s.

Phillips has recorded twenty albums [1] and worked with musicians including Donovan, Paul Buckmaster, J. Peter Robinson, Eric Clapton, Steve Winwood, Bernie Taupin, and many others.[2] The Texas-born singer-songwriter was described as "The best kept secret in the music business" by the late rock impresario Bill Graham.

In the 1960s Phillips worked as a session player on several Donovan albums including Fairytale, Sunshine Superman, andMellow Yellow, [3] performed at the Isle of Wight festival, sang on "Lovely Rita" by the Beatles, [4] and was cast to play the lead in the original production of Jesus Christ Superstar (he had to withdraw due to his heavy recording and touring schedule). In February 1969 Phillips wrote and performed, with The Djinn, the music for the controversial Jane Arden play Vagina Rex and the Gas Oven at the Arts Laboratory on Drury Lane.

Phillips worked the folk music scene in Los Angeles, New York's Greenwich Village, and London. In 1967, Phillips moved to Positano, Italy, where he remained throughout the 1970s, recording the albums Contribution, Second Contribution, Collaboration, and Faces'.

Four of his albums Faces, Bright White, Furthermore, and Do You Wonder made it into the Billboard Top 100. In addition, the singles, "Lost Horizon" and "We", made Billboard's top 100 in 1973 (63 and 92 respectively).

His album No Category, featuring his longtime collaborators Paul Buckmaster and Peter Robinson, was released in 2002.

In 2007, his first live album, Living Contribution, was released, along with a Live DVD of the same title.

Phillips today lives in Port Elizabeth, South Africa with his wife Juliette and their son Liam. He quit touring after 2011 and now he divides his time between writing, recording, and his work as an emergency medical technician (EMT), firefighter, 1st Officer, Navigator, and Extrication Specialist with the National Sea Rescue Institute of South Africa (NSRI).

Discography

[5]

Albums

I'm a Loner (1964) [re-issued in 1965 as Favourite Things]

Shawn (1965) [re-issued in 1966 as First Impressions]

Contribution (1970)

Second Contribution (1970) US #208

Collaboration (1971)

Faces (1972) US #57

Bright White (1973) US #72

Furthermore (1974), A&M Records US #50

Do You Wonder (1974) US #101

Rumplestiltskin's Resolve (1975) US #201

Spaced (1977)

Transcendence (1978)

Beyond Here Be Dragons (1983)

Best of Shawn Phillips (1990)

The Best of Shawn Phillips: The A&M Years (1992)

The Truth If It Kills (1994)

Another Contribution: Anthology (1995)

No Category (2002)

Living Contribution (2007)

At The BBC (2009)

Singles

A Christmas Song (1970, A&M AMS-819)

We

Lost Horizon

Anello (Where Are You)

Do You Wonder (1974. A&M)

References

 "Shawn Phillips official website home page". Shawnphillips.com. Retrieved 2012-02-19.

 Eder, Bruce (1943-02-03). "Shawn Phillips". AllMusic. Retrieved 2012-02-19.

"Shawn Phillips website - Session Discography". Shawnphillips.com. 2004-04-26. Retrieved 2012-02-19.

 "Shawn Phillips". Drmusic.org. Retrieved 2012-02-19.

 [1] "Shawn Phillips Generated and Copyright on: October 26, 2004 6:05 pm by Leslie J. Pfenninger"

Walking Through the Fields: The Shawn Phillips interview

External links

Official website

Official Youtube channel

Official ReverbNation channel

http://www.shawnphillips.com/music/discography.htm

 (The beginning of the end of the story by Razzledorf Rebumpkin)

A thousand million things have gone reeling through my mind: of worlds and girls and traffic snarls and thoughts tremendously exciting. Red and gold the ripples of but one which I was seeing; black and gray are waves of the other, the one which I was fleeing. It came to pass on this bleak night in the house of Hansel and Gretel, in the house of the girl with salmon feet and bright disordered mettle, with diamonds and rubies all in her hair, and her flash-lovely eyes in fire. We came to the place known only to us as the house in the Land of Ire.

Now also in this land lived a lovely witch who rode in the skies with a fox. And one lived in a cave with a donkey  or two and a rooster she kept in a box. Now the donkey, the rooster, the fox, and she were said to have magical powers to bring rain to the land, or sea to the skies, or love to the poor dying flowers, and the flowers in turn would face towards her and give back her magical powers, with a fragrance so sweet of lavender peat, and of candlelight scent in the hours.

Now one day the witch flew away from the home in the valley of myriad streams to go to the land of a man she had met who was known as the seer of dreams. She said, "Can you tell me the time of the day, and all of the worlds we have seen: the world of the dove, the world of the love, and the world of the mountains of breen. And what is its color, and why it's alive, so peaceful and fertile and clean?" He said of the time, "It's much like a rhyme; it comes and it ripples away," and he said of the dove, "It's the same as the love, and the worlds are together forever. And the mountains of breen have always been clean, and the color is far velvet green." So the witch thanked him much, for his wisdom and such, and said she must travel again.

So the seer reached down to the base of his robe and produced such a beautiful gem. First it flashed red, then it flashed green, then again it went silver and blue. This jewel is the night, and this jewel is the day, and it works for one person but you. And that is the one that you love, who fits like a glove, and who stares at you as through a mist, and just counting some that day will become, and soon you'll be reached and be kissed. So when you're in trouble, just reach for this bauble, and it will turn any night into day, and likewise, in turn, a day into night, and nothing will know what to say." Then the seer reached out and stroked her long hair and vanished out into the air.

So the witch followed suit and quick as a hoot she'd traveled as far as the moon. And the dwarf that was there said, "Good heavens, my dear, I didn't expect you so soon." But to say more for the dwarf, he was not quite as short as dwarfs are expected to be; his eyes were a puzzle, and his hair was quite long, and he repeatedly said, "Do you see?" "Do I see what?" the witch always said, while on both her hands flowed her hair. "Why, the table I made," he'd cry with a grin, and he'd fling both his hands in the air. Now this answer wasn't rightly what the witch had wanted to hear, nor not at all wrong, nor not at all right, but not exactly just what she had feared. But nevertheless, he'd stamp both his feet and he'd laugh in his luminous beard.

But then that they'd forget, and they'd speak with regret of their friends who had lived in the clouds, in a white serene house with a terry lene mouse and a cat named Jebidiah Benign Hossifatt who wasn't so bright, but usually right in the things he would say off the bat. But their friend was a horse, who was special of course. He was known as a winged unicorn, with silver white hooves and a long flowing mane, and a multi-hued pearlescent horn. And they'd lived there for years, without any tears, until came the time of the war, and bad flying things, and electrical rings and storms that raged just out the door. Now one day, you see, they were just having tea when the window shuttered in with a crash, and the table went flying and the mouse started crying, and there instantly followed a flash. And Jebidiah said, "Vile! It's the big rubbish pile, who never can find where to land, and wherever he'll go, there's always black snow, and an evil falls over the land."

But now back to the witch who was fit to be stitched, for she remembered this ever so well. She was flying along with the fox and the cat, and they'd come from the tropical dell; and she felt with a start in the pulse of her heart that something was wrong down below. So she went with a care to see what was there and soon they flew into dark snow. And it got darker and darker, and then it got starker and starker, and suddenly went fully black. And they tumbled around in the midst of old cans and dry broken-down bubble pipes. And there were other things there, that were caught in the snare, things ugly and beastly and mean, like minotaur's heads and uniformed feds, and things that should never, never be seen. And in the midst of it all they continued to fall, until they came down with a bump. And all three got a lump, they were literally stumped. They didn't know where in the world they could be. It was cold and then hot, and then wet, and then dry, and they'll tell you they still couldn't see.

But one thing had fared: they knew they weren't scared. For the witch had powers to behold, and the powers were fair in her heart in the air. And she bade the cat and the fox to come close, for she had decided that enough time had bided to find out what this thing was they were in. So with courage up front, and a magical stunt, they began on their terrible hunt. And the cat started howling, and the fox started yowling, and the witch began speaking in Latin: "Non illigitimatus carborundum," she said. "Everything here has begun in my head. So spin around, spin around, we'll finish this plight. Be gone with your demons and devils of night. Away with your evil that lies in this place! Straight away to your own land, and leave not a trace!" So spoke she these words with her face full aglow, and all of a sudden there was white crystal snow, so gently falling, but with a sound ever so loud.

But then it quietly returned to a bright, peaceful cloud, and off to the right was the sound of a grouse, and off to the left, was the white serene house. And all of her friends were there at the door, beckoning and calling for them to come o'er. "You must stay a month, or a week at the least. And we'll celebrate your victory with a magnificent feast." And so then it was, the place was abuzz. And friends came from great far and near. And some of the dishes you simply must hear. There was eggplant and breadfruit and olives and oil, and honeydew cakes and rock candy soil; figs and bananas and litchees and cream and all was so lovely, it seemed like a dream.

But then all were gone except the witch and her friends and the unicorn said, "Now we must make amends. We all have just been through a terrible strife. And you came just in time and gave us our life. So a gift we will give that will be as long as you live that will float in the sky o'er your land." Now the witch had sat next to a blue dragon snap, and
the unicorn came and put his head in her lap. "Just follow the spiral on my horn with your hand, and think in your mind of your own lovely land" And as soon as she'd done this, there appeared up above, the most beautiful colors, that were made out of love. "The violet is for the color you wear. The indigo's for the brilliant night air. The blue is the color to go around your head. The green is the place where you make your bed. The yellow is the one to fashion your sun. The orange is the thing to eat and have fun. And my blood is red," the unicorn said. And his horn had spread out like a fan. So the witch said goodbye, with a tear in her eye, and that's how the rainbow began.
 

Over the horizon came a long graceful yawl, and the man there on board was strong and sea tall. He was watched for the first time as he walked down the bank, as free as the wind, but he looked sacrosanct. "Very strange," people thought as he looked neither way, but they felt from his presence he was enjoying the day. Then a woodworker stopped for a rest and a smoke, while all ears were turned as his voice softly spoke. "Please could you tell me a room with a bed, for I've traveled some time, and I feel nearly dead." A clear, steady gaze from ocean blue eyes made the carpenter wonder as he swept off the flies, "Just go up those stairs and turn to the right, and there see a man with hair of salt white. And he'll give you a bed and a place for the night."

   Thanks were then given, and the man made the lease, and he said he was there for some "quiet and peace." But the people of there didn't care for his sake, there were tourists around and money to make, and hotels to build and boats to be rented, as if they believed that could make them contented. So he went quite unnoticed for nearly a month, while the people kept on and continued their hunt. Then one summer night under cold glistening stars, he began making round of the fisherman's bars, asking questions in one, being silent in others, while curiosity grew amongst townspeople and brothers. Then some of the elders decided to go near, when he came in
the bar and ordered a beer.

    "We was just wondering what you're all about, with that beautiful boat and soft talk, never shout" "First let me ask you," said the man, wiping his mouth, "Do you know of a shell in the sea hereabout, that's as long as you are and blood red inside; and it'll take off your leg as quick as your pride, and once that you have one you never will sell, for in order to find it, you must live through hell?" The oldest of all had stepped up to the front, and he said, "Listen my friend, for I'm going to be blunt. That shell that you speak of, I know the one; it went and it took my one only son. But I also Know it's not the shell that you want, so why have you come here and what do you hunt?"

    The bar was dead quiet while the man got a beer, and everyone strained to see what they'd hear. There was a long hesitation and he blew off the curl, then he said to the crowd, "I've come for the pearl. A pearl 'bout as large as a man's fist and bigger, and gives peace to who finds it, be he white man or nigger. And God is my witness that it radiates bliss, for I've held one but once, and had the privilege to kiss. But now the man's dead, and he died of old age, and the pearl disappeared like a burning book page. But before he died he said where to be near, and now here I sit as I'm drinking my beer. The pearl is all colors of green and of gold; it's warm like the sand when the sun has grown cold. And it picks up vibrations from all over the land, and transmits to the holder be it woman or man, radiations of love, of mercy and strength, and all the secrets of life will be yours then at length. For once you have found it, you will always stay poor, but confusion and sorrow will be there never more." He finished his tale and went out with a lurch, but they knew tomorrow he'd begin his search.

    The day came with yellow and hazed-over veils, and the mountains were misty as up went his sails, with a slight southern breeze as he left wing in wing, and snatches were heard as he started to sing. And all on the beach wished he would find his goal, and there was no sign of motion as they prayed for his soul. With a hand on the tiller and the bow throwing spray, the man had been sailing for all of the day. The sky now was claret into deep purple blue; there was the landmark that in his memory he knew, so he let away anchor with the ship set to keep, and went down to his hammock for a restless night's sleep.

    The sun came up red and glaring and mean, with rolling swells coming, but his senses were keen. Then he ate a small bite and prepared his gear, and wondered how long he'd be there. "Well it could be a year, or maybe I'll die here, but I'm feeling brave. What better place than the sea as your grave. That's where we all started with lightning and storm, then tossed on the rocks just a small shapeless form, to begin crawling and walking and flying out free, with not much progress made as far as I see." Then all was prepared, and he made his first dive, and the shock of cold water made him feel well alive. The numbness had passed in seconds so few, a cacophony of bubbles surrounded his view, then sank a few fathoms and the water went clear. So downward he started with no trace of fear, while fish of all wonders departed asunder. And the sound of his breathing was roaring like thunder, from gray to gray green then to deep velvet blue.

    Something inside told him he'd started off true, he stopped for a moment to think of intention, then visually sank into another dimension. Colorless line separated the cold from the warm, and the bottom was ninety freezing meters or more. So onward he went with pressure increasing, adjusting his tanks with air to be easing. He then spied partly bottom, a world of its own, with graceful fans waving in currents unknown, and millions of creatures just went their own way in this deep murky gloom denied light of day. A long table reef as if looking at night, which dropped off even more and out of his sight, and over the drop-off was where he'd find the shells, in eternal darkness and fish dwelling dells. All crackling and snapping were sounds in his ears, the sounds of continuum for thousands of years.

    Then over the ledge and downward again, to meters that measured at ninety and ten, the pressure was frightening as if living in hell's. On a mud-rippled bottom he saw the first shells, they stuck up from the mud like monsters unknown, with living things on them just flat ragged cones. He hated to kill things, but lives had to sever, besides he was searching for a treasure forever. He wrestled the first one from out of the muck, then pried it wide open to look, search, and cluck. Quickly he went through what must have been five, then noticed air getting shorter and he must stay alive. Also he'd stirred up a whole lot of mud, and the black-pink was made from the shell's ebbing blood.

    So he rose a few fathoms where the water was clear, and a shadow passed over with a shiver of fear. A fear that he'd thought of while down in the dark, with all of its menace it was there now, a shark. Fifteen feet of fury, and not any of it nice, the water was warm, but he'd turned to ice. All that he had was a small twelve-inch knife, with air running out, maybe not long his life. The shark made a pass, but high overhead, just circling and turning, enforcing his dread.

    Suddenly a thought came: "A shark's nose is soft. If only by some means work my way up aloft." The shark by then thought that this thing was ill, so driving down hard, he came in for the kill. But the man saw it coming and flippered up in an arc. As the huge shape drew near, he stabbed out in the dark. He felt the knife rasp and go in leathery skin. Then he was slapped silly sideways by the pain-ridden fin.

    When he woke up, little waves were slapping his neck, so he swam to the boat and fell asleep on the deck. He woke with a fright, and reached out in the dark, then realized he was dreaming of his fight with the shark. A drizzle had started and he was cold to his feet, so he went down below and had something to eat. Half a bottle of brandy made him feel warm and better, so he drifted back to oblivion with thoughts then unfettered. He slept then unknowing and the wind started blowing.

    The sea started rising and the rain began pouring, he worked in the middle of a rip-roaring gale. Half drunk and stumbling, he thought of the sail. He'd secured it right down, but he'd best double-check. So opening the hatch, he made aloft to the deck. The rain stung his face like a cat-o'-nine tails, but tight battened down were all of his sails.

    The storm anchors were set and all that moved was lashed down, including himself to the mainmast and crown. The seas were so angry but he must stay on top until the storm had abated and come to a stop. Twenty foot waves now knocked him around, and wind shrieked through the guy wires with indescribable sound. The bow rising sharply with a sixty degree list, then smashing down in the trough like a stainless steel fist. Salt in his eyes, and an ache in his head, he thought of the two-week long storms with a fast growing dread. After what seemed nine hours, so long, the storm had depleted with the coming of dawn.

    On the edge of the mountains came a grayish tinge, then brightened to rosy hue, that made the mountains look as if transparent gray green with a lightish blue. And the dawn brought back a memory to an aching weary mind. The woman who of course had been to him one of an only kind, "Caterina, Caterina, as if heralding horns came near. What forces came that keep us apart in pair forever and a twisting inner fear. If only to brush your lips again and lay with hand on breast, to release all emotions in a fiery rush and revel in the flow of your undaunted love and search stillness in your face as you rest. Why must happiness go like a last flicking spark, to have you looking and wandering and groping in a horrendous torturing dark, like a facet on a wave which the sunlight will catch and startle your not-seeing eyes? Is it like that to be gone in a flash when before your souls were the skies? Oh God, or whatever, rid me of this pain. It torments me down to the bone, but now I am here and here will I stay forever and
always alone."

    The sun was at zenith when he broke off his train and began to clear off his ship. He hadn't been hurt in the storm that night; but he'd fallen and busted his lip. So again preparation for another long look to be made in another place, where the shells were much bigger and the water much deeper. He thought of a soon-ending race, but races are to be won, and "I am the one I'm running, neck and neck with myself. And seeing how there's only one in this race I don't think I need any help." With this bit of wit, he went over the side.

    He felt better than he had done before, and the color was astounding, and schools of bright fish angled on with the currents of tide, down deeper than ever, to a smooth inky dark, where his torch shot a pale sickly beam to pick up the shells as they stuck in the bottom, like gravestones in a cemetery scene. Now up to the first, and it clamped strongly shut, but his knife had just gone in the edge to cut the great muscle that held it together, then search in the mucous like a dredge. He'd wandered through nine while the kelp gently fanned, then he came to the tenth to cut through the flesh, and it silently closed on his hand.

    Pain shot through his body as he struggled to pull free, but the shell closed down even tighter and in bubbles he silently screamed. The hand was inside just up to the wrist and he'd felt the bones snap as it shut. So slashing the knife in rack-shooting pains, he felt the big muscle get cut, and the edges released their death holding grip. He changed hands with the knife and he slashed and he ripped, not knowing how long he did this. He finally stopped and the fever subsided and the pain turned to throbbing and he returned to
the world on the top.

    It had been quite a job getting out of his tanks, but setting up sail, he began to give thanks and scour the coast in search of a town, a doctor to relieve the pain all around. He found one at last, and stayed a few weeks, healing his arm and repairing some leaks. Then again he was off, and back to the spot. He knew that this time, he'd now find his lot, in the back of his mind something was sure, a quick flash impression, short, but yet pure.

    A drizzle had started, but the sun was still high, and a rainbow beamed forth its arch in the sky. Raindrops dripped from his face as he stared, enhanced by the colors, it seemed that they cared, cared to be seen, to be felt and believed. If only by one man alone on the sea, but one man is all men, and what is the sum? To love and let live or go cry in your rum, to love and let live is by far the best. "Before the next dive I'd best get some rest." The sea was dead calm with nary a chafe, and the tanks had been filled and checked out and safe. Over the port side and into the brine, and straight for the bottom he made a beeline. The fish he encountered scattered out at a run, dancing through pale filtered rays of the sun. Angling on down and following a ray, he came to the realm of deep dark and no day.

    Little blind things scuttled out of his path, as if he were a predator exerting his wrath. These little blind fish without any sight, how are they content in this eternal night? An unanswerable question and he mused, "What the hell!" And then off to the right he saw a big shell. Nothing was there nor in the next twelve, so on deeper down held begun to delve. He did five or six more then had to go back, he was ravenous hungry with his air going black. When he returned it was late afternoon, and it was blacker than ever in this far reaching gloom. He'd just passed the place where he'd begun to work with the freezing sea round like an all knowing smirk. "Laugh in my face, will you? But you are but finite, and out of your black I'll rob you of your secret."

    Just as he thought that, he saw a huge shell, towering over a cathedral-like bell. It didn't stick up from the mud like the rest, but lay on its side, an immense cradled nest. And wide open it stood, as if then inviting, and he looked in it then with his heart wildly beating, and he could not believe what his eyes had to meet. There was an enormous great pearl cradled there in the meat. "How can this be true? I've found it at last. The future is mine and gone is the past." Now reaching in with great care, so the shell wouldn't close, he took hold of the pearl and silently rose. Getting back to the boat, he stripped off his gear, with attacking relief and feeling some...fear?

    Then he took the great pearl and sat by the wheel. He sensed apprehension, and wondered "could it be real? I've searched half my life for this thing in my hand, and I know it started with one grain of sand. But how many years did it take to grow? And the power I felt of this I must know, from whence came this joy that surged through myself, so open and vibrant with no trace of stealth." He sat for a long time with the pearl in his hand, looking first at the sea and then at the land, then back to the pearl and waited and waited. And nothing at all happened; he felt so defeated. "Yes, I have found the pearl, but all I feel is relief, but where is the happiness I felt so beneath? Could this not be the one, could this not be the place? Oh my God, I'm confused. Have I not finished this race? But I keep saying 'I' and what does this mean? That I'm aware I'm aware with five senses so keen. But my mind is so filled with puzzle and thought. Am I going insane? What has all of this wrought?

    "I know now I'm nothing, not even a mar, compared with these mountains, this sea, and that star. On velvet green mountains, the clouds were so white, with splotches of yellow, electric and bright, the sea ever moving like the stars and the moon, the sun was descending and just cut in two, and long shafts of light were thrown from the sky. The man bowed his head and began to cry. To cry for himself and also the world, and his sorrow reached out and let truly unfurled, then he felt a great wind come and blow through his heart. And he was no longer alone, with blind fish in the dark, for the sun had gone down, but there was a light, all colors imaginable and pulsating pure white, with the full-yawning sorrow and a great sweeping joy. He was filled with the happiness he'd set out to employ, but it wasn't even in the pearl; it was there in the man.

    And he was at one with the sea and the land, in this magnificent moment he knew he could see the infinite and the infinitesimal simultaneously, and crying and laughing he said to the universe, "Absolute be you there, and you are the first; and awoken am I, and I know I am me." And with a stroke of his arm returned the pearl to the sea.

©Shawn Phillips, all rights reserved.

Why We Do This?

Why We Do This?

The reason we do this - investigate the assassination - is because its an adventure, it’s a great adventure - no matter where or when you pick it up - and begin to ask questions - it’s a great adventure where the treasure being sought is the truth.

And it’s an obtainable truth - one that does answer the ultimate questions - who, what, when, where, how and why JFK died?

There’s a series of 1970s B-grade modern western movies - the Story of Billy Jack - a medal of honor special ops veteran - and the theme song “One Tin Soldier,” which became a big hit, about the wars between nations - and all of the death and destruction over a purported treasure - that when finally acquired - was a simple message - Peace on Earth Goodwill Towards Men,” or something like that.

We don’t do it for revenge or even justice - like you would if you were avenging the murder of a brother or your dog - as in “Odessa File” or “The Shooter.”

We don’t do it for justice - and I’ll tell you why - because they were the ruthless, vindictive killers, certainly sociopaths - and we are not.

This is best exemplified by Dr. Anne Stevens, sister to US Ambassador Christopher Stevens, assassinated by radical Islamic terrorists in Bengahzi. When Secretary of State Hilary Clinton called Dr. Stevens to relate her condolences,  Clinton said, “We will find out who did this and get them and bring them to justice.”

“Chris was not about justice,” she said of her brother, and indeed, even a cursory overview of Chris Stevens’ life shows you he was not about justice, but about something else, something even more valuable.

And while the law and those sworn to enforce it do have the responsibility of seeking justice, and seeing that justice is served, that is not our responsibility. Our responsibility is to the Truth, and let Justice take its own course.