Oswald by Kerry Thornley Part 3

he didn't have too much of that. Later he would carry out a secret plan that might put his hands on some levers of power, but for the present he had to use what little there was at his disposal in his own defense. As far back as he could remember,

almost Oswald had been an object of ridicule. In nineteen fifty two, when he moved with his mother to New York, the other children in p. S. One seventeen tease them about his Texas Acte, and in nineteen fifty four, upon returning to the South, he found the children in his ninth grade class laughing at him because he acquired a Northern accent. And after he joined the Marine Corps in October of nineteen fifty six. Somewhere along the line, he

got nicknamed Ozzie Rabbit. When Lee was very young, however, and first attending school, he was large for his age. A former schoolmate of his from that period asserted in a news story that Lee, due probably to his size,

was the leader of the playground. He was popular, so when he came to feel the sting of ridicule, it was all the sharper by contrast, And while it would not appear that Oswald received much more ridicule than many children who find it difficult to adjust to new surroundings, that he was especially sensitive and tended to withdraw away from others his own age perhaps indicates that, due probably to his unsatisfactory home life and to the dominance courted

him in earlier peer group relationships because of his size, he certainly did feel the ridicule more intensely than would another. So it might have been in those early days of his life that he came to give undeserved attention to his image in the eyes of other people. For if the opinion of others could so hurt him, then it was something to which he must pay great heed. Further, as time went on, it might have been that he extended this false premise to the point of creating his

extraordinary view of history. Whatever the reasons, Oswald came to have an exaggerated concern for impressing it upon others that he was not a fit object of their contempt. This very common and extremely unhealthy obsession is usually expressed in the words people may not like me, but they are sure as hell going to respect me. In effect, such a desire puts one entirely at the mercy of others, be they rational or irrational. From this point on, the

problem requires merely a logical extension. If I'm being attacked by a man with a deadly weapon, and if I am unarmed, the logical thing for me to do is to arm myself, possibly by wrestling the weapon away from the attacker. If that weapon is a gun, I become a gunman. If that weapon is laughter, I become a jester. And the thing I remember most about Lee is that he was a comedian. His jibes were usually directed at officers. At times they were at his own expense, perhaps in

hopes that they would beat others to the punch. They were always witty. It was by his wit, even more than by his Marxism, that he chose to set himself apart, and likewise it was his wit that got him into the most trouble, though once again he appeared not to perceive that such was the cause. One of his favorite games was to compare the United States Marine Corps to the Society in nineteen eighty four. Be careful, comrade, with big brother's equipment, he would say, as we unloaded government

owned gear from the truck. He would also compare to the officers to party members because of the special privileges they received. An analogous theme of joking was communism. Once when our section chief jumped up onto a truck fender and called for us to gather around and listen up, Lee exclaimed in a thick Russian accent. Ah collective farm lecture. He oftentimes referred to himself and others as comrade. Even when his witticisms had no direct relation to communism, he

often nevertheless uttered them in his Russian accent. Other of his clever remarks fall into no single category. Often they were quite biting, though, and he was unabashed about making them loud enough so that his intended victims, even if they happened to be somewhat humorless officers could hear them in a group. Lee was a loud and boisterous person, making jokes or arguing the case for communism or both without reserve. Yet on a person to person basis, he

was shy and reserved. I preferred arguing with him when we were alone, because then he was more inclined to listen. He didn't have a front to keep up. Without an audience, he would be He would more often admit he was wrong on a point, whether by intention or in spite of himself. He also projected pathos at all times. There was a certain sympathy getting embarrassed about him, And yet I'm sure he wanted it understood that he cared for no man's concern or sympathy, though not sure at all

such was really the case. Despite the barbed nature of his humor, the total effect of his antics was more that of a clown than the satirist. His humor seldom became an effective method of offense. Usually it only achieved defensive ends. The exception was when he did encounter that occasional humorless officer than understandably he made the most of it, and understandably he ended up swabbing, raking, mowing, edging, or

just picking up cigarette butts. Another aspect of Oswald's differing nature, depending on whether he was in a group or alone with just one other individual, was in relation to his real action to jokes fired in his direction. He didn't seem to mind being called Comrade Osvaldovitch, and in a bull session or on a working party, he seemed good natured about anything anyone said in fun about him. But my own experience indicated that he might have been different

about such matters on a person to person basis. When I finally said, in reply to one of his complaints about the core, something to the effect of, well comes the revolution, you will change all that, he looked at me with an expression of pained surprise and shouted, his voice cracking, not you too, Thornly, while Oswald became a clown in the eyes of those around him, I'm sure

this is not what he intended. He meant only to defend himself from ridicule, and if possible, used the weapon of ridicule offensively as a means of exercising power in his own eyes, he was two conflicting things. On one hand, and perhaps most deeply, while certain not most obviously, he was Oswald the Oppressed. On the other hand, he was Oswald the Great, the future liberator of the entire human race.

Oswald the Oppressed was that faceless every man in the ranks of the human herd, whose life was thoroughly uninteresting except for its importance as an example of injustice. Such a picture of himself would adequately explain his fascination. For nineteen eighty four, its hero, too, was a victim of oppression. Winston Smith was so oppressed, in fact, that he had a difficult time expressing him in self and writing, as did Oswald, Winston Smith was a hero victim with which

Lee could easily identify. For many reasons, Oswald the Great was the hero that would issue forth from Oswald the Oppressed. Indeed, Oswald the Great lived within the shell of Oswald the Oppressed already, and that was necessary was that Oswald the Oppressed throw off his chains, at which time Oswald the Great would step out of the shell, and Oswald the Oppressed would be destroyed forever. But so long as the self image of Oswald the oppressed remained to haunt him.

Oswald could not entirely convince himself that he was, or had it in him to be Oswald the Great, since his quips seldom permitted him to feel true greatness, which Oswald came to identify with true power. He could not escape knowing that he was for the moment Oswald the Oppressed. So finally his sense of humor must fail him all right. Chapter five, The Idle Warrior Experience. I observed US imperialism at work while serving in the Marine Corps. Quote from

Lee Harvey Oswald. In June of nineteen fifty nine, I left m ACS nine for Japan. This is Kerry Thornley speaking as it happens. I was transferred to Oswald's old overseas outfit, MACS one. I'm telling you not coincidence, for the sake of all the Marine Corps stands for. I hope MACS one was unique. Never did I suspect there was anything like it. Defending the peace and discovering such a unit could exist was enough to give me dire

reservations concerning the future of the United States. Later, MAACS one was transferred on paper to the States, thus starting life over as a brand new unit at that time. However, it was and had been for fourteen years, the goddamnedest excuse for a military operation ever to give ulcers to a kernel, it was magnificent. We arrived on the fourth of July and dragged our sea bags into the barracks, littered with beer cans. A drunken marine sat weaving in

a chair with a broken bottle. He was cutting his own arm with it. That night, after taps, there was some noise in the barracks, and when the duty nco called for silence, he was booed down. At that time, the men of MAACS one had two things about which to boast. First, they'd believe it or not, just won a competition in close order drill for the entire Far East. Second, for the past three months they maintained the highest venereal disease rate on the base. The unit has been in

Japan since the end of the war. Each month a new draft of perhaps a dozen men or more arrived, and about a dozen or so were sent home. That way, the outfit had evidently managed to maintain its salty wartime personality by assimilating new members and small lots According to the testimony before the Commission of William Stuckey, who debated on radio with Oswald in New Orleans, Oswald told him that the conclusive thing made him decisive, made him decide

that Marxism was the answer. Was his service in Japan. He said, living conditions over there convinced him that something was wrong with the system, and that possibly Marxism was the answer. He said it was in Japan that he made up his mind to go to Russia and to see for himself how a revolutionary society operates a Marxist society. Speaking personally again, I did not find the conditions in

Japan particularly bad. The Japanese people seemed to enjoy quite a high standard of living, and I find it difficult to imagine Oswald distressed by the economic conditions he encountered there. I cannot climb inside of another man's mind, though, and maybe Oswald saw things I didn't see. On the other hand, Lee may very well have been speaking of conditions other than economic. Far more likely he was speaking of what

he called us imperialism. This subject deserves careful examination. What Oswald called us imperialism was direct outspring of the conditions of the barracks of MACS One, and I hope, to a lesser extent other outfits. He was referring to the conduct of United States servicemen and their dealings with the Japanese and other Far East peoples. I remember especially one heated discussion we had on the subject. I challenged him

back to back up Soviet allegations concerning imperialism. This he became very excited as he alluded to his overseas experience. If you ever go overseas thornly, you'll see what I mean, he said, in effect, adding that my fellow Marines equaled any Nazi stormtrooper for brutality given the opportunity to get away with it. His face became chalky and as he discussed the matter, and he appeared to be genuinely sick,

and so I did not press him for details. When I got to the Far East, though, I kept a keen eye out for US imperialism, and I soon saw that what he'd been talking about, the average servicemen not only resented being overseas when he could not see any good reason for it, he had little respect for native customs.

Despite this, many men managed to behave in a civilized manner, while on liberty added deference for the fact that the Japanese, after all, were people and overwhelmingly very courteous, and that some few marine sailors, soldiers and airmen failed to comprehend this, though to them all foreigners were slightly subhuman. The results were sometimes tragic for some reason which I don't imagine. One would have to look very far, and ma acs One had a very large share of such men the

anti Japanese sent him. It was especially strong in newcomers. However, in the course of fourteen months, due to exposure, most men have came to have at least a begrudging admiration for the little nip bastards. Although the anti foreign attitude was by no means restricted to Japanese when we went on maneuvers, it was applied indiscriminately to Filipinos and Chinese as well. I'll not attempt to go into all the factors which I think created this phenomenon, but the most

important one was also the most obvious. You don't give a man six months training in professional murder followed by a half hour lecture on the importance of good conduct on overseas liberty and then send him out as an ambassador of goodwill. It was therefore with some justice that League came to feel that all the Marine Corps did was teach you to kill. In the course on my tour, I saw perhaps a half a dozen incidents of brutality on the part of Americans toward natives of the far East.

These ranged from the beating beating up of taxi cab drivers to the droppings, on one occasion, of a garbage filled crate from a ship into an old man's back as a prank. I heard of dozens more, usually in the form of boasts. I called this sort of juvenile

thing delinquency. Oswald called it us imperialism. Since my ambition had been for many years to be a writer, and since going to Japan was the first thing that had ever happened to me which I could then imagine as an interesting starting place for a book, I went there with a definite desire and indefinite plan to write a

book about some aspect of Japan. As after my arrival I became increasingly perturbed over the juvenile delinquency I saw over the long range effect it was having on Japanese goodwill. I more and more came to feel the book I was to write should deal with this problem, as well as other things centering around the existence of peacetime marines in Japan, And at last, stimulated by a chance comment,

I hit upon the perfect title, The Idle Warriors. Yet I still lacked an essential ingredient for a good novel. I needed a central theme that would tie in all the many minor themes I wanted to handle. One afternoon in the barracks after work, a friend of mine who had also been in AMACS nine, who had known Oswald, handed me a copy of The Stars and Stripes and said, look there, on about page three was an article about a United States marine who, after getting out of the service,

had gone to Russia and requested Soviet citizenship. Of course it was Oswald. It was not until then that I really believed as commitment to Communism was serious. I was surprised. I wondered how he had come to this decision. I began to ponder the problem, and then I sat down and began to work on The Idle Warriors. I had my theme. So I'm convinced that the Idle Warrior experience played a key role in Lee's disillusionment with the United States.

If it did, Lee was not the only victim. Many men became alcoholics while serving overseas, Sympathy with communist ideas was unusually popular. Others found an escape in indiscriminate sexual activity. A surprising number turned to masochistic pastimes, such as cutting themselves with broken bottles, biting chunks out of glasses, and arm wrestling with live cigarette butts between their arms. Others became thieves and saboteurs just for the sake of thrills involved.

Riots were common, and subordination was ordinary. As explanation for this mass disillusionment, I have given consideration to several possibilities. Most prominent among them seems to be purposelessness and its two companions discussed in Boredom. Few men, if any, specially, understood why they were over there in the first place. Much about ma ACS one helps to explain Oswald's behavior.

In MAACS nine, he had just returned from overseas, not too long before I met him, and as we would say in the Core, he wasn't about to get with the new routine Chapter six, Helping others. Oswald's underlying motivation happiness is not based on one's self. Happiness is taking part in the struggle where there is no borderline between one's own personal world and the world in general. Quote from Lee Harvey Oswald, I'd say probably not. I'd say

Kerry Thornley probably made that shit up. Probably made up a lot of shit. As has been by this time established, Oswald was a humanitarian, but like most humanitarians, he could not be satisfied by giving of his own charity. It was owned to charity. He wanted his neighbor to be a humanitarian as well, or to put his wealth at Oswald's disposal so Oswald could increase his own effectiveness on

behalf of behalf of others. What he really wanted, in fact, was to have the whole wealth of the entire world at his disposal, so we could distribute it along where in his opinion, just lines were in his opinion just lines. Beyond this, no humanitarian can wish for anything. There was no limit to the power. Oswald knew he would need to fulfill his unselfishness, so his primary function to become taking part in the struggle, and the struggle in politics

is always for power. The kind of morality he accepted forced him to seek power. How does a recently discharge private from a poor family get power? That was his problem. It's not a problem with many all alternative answers to it that Oswald could dream up the idea of going to the Soviet Union as a tribute to his ingenuity.

I'm sure he felt that if his communism was ardent enough to cause him to defect, and if he could give the Soviets a propaganda edge by means of his defection, and perhaps he could provide them with intelligence about the operations of the Marine Air Control Squadron, the Soviets would

doubtlessly welcome him into their party. His disappointment at the first rebuff he received by a government official was enough to drive him to attempt suicide, and later it became clear to him that no amount of living in the Soviet Union was going to get him anywhere near living inside the Kremlin. He decided to return to the United States, where if he couldn't run for president, he could at least build the beginnings of power through political activity of

various kinds. If Oswald's plans were unrealistic, his evaluations of the result they bore were not entirely so. After all, he was not entirely psychotic, and he had been. Had he had been, he probably would have been far more obvious and far less dangerous. He could not pretend to himself that he was successful in achieving anything when the evidence against it, combined with his wife's prosaic nagging, made

simply an overwhelming case. To the contrary, The closest he came was in the desperate attempt on the life of General Walker in April of nineteen sixty three. In this assassination attempt, there is evidence that he was a good deal more cautious than in the Kennedy murder. For example, hid the rifle for several days after using it. He also told his wife he'd been planning to shoot the shooting for two months. Two weeks after the Walker attempt, his wife reports that Oswald said he was going to

shoot Nixon. In light of the fact that Nixon was not in Dallas at that time and had no plans to be there in the near future, it is probable that either he or she was mistaken, and that the person referred to was Vice President Johnson. According to her testimony, Marina Oswald thwarted this plan. It is apparent that Oswald by now was well into the state of frantic despair. His political activity seemed ready to take any available form, no matter how dangerous or petty. Next it was the

Fair Play for Cuba Committee agitation in New Orleans. And then he tried defecting again. He went to the Cuban embassy in Mexico. This is so fucking hilarious to me, because Carrie Thornley is the one who did all this stuff. He went to the Cuban embassy in Mexico City, and his path was blocked. But by now he had come to express his disappointment in anger rather than depression. He stomped out and slammed the door. There were other ways open, and sooner or later he figured he'd hit the jackpot

or lose everything. His psychology had become that of a habitual gambler. In essence, don't think, just keep trying. You're bound to hit it someday. His tactics were often desperate ones, involving long odds, but without power, he could not live. For to live he must have self esteem, and to have self esteem, he must have respect in the eyes of others. As many others as possible somewhere, and it was to gain that respect that he was a humanitarian

in the first place. It is safe to say that Oswald had long come to value the opinion of others on an equal or superior level to life itself. This is evidence in his diary entry of twenty one October nineteen fifty nine, where he describes his own attempt at suicide. Step by step, presumably as he goes along gradually from his return to the United States on, Oswald begins to lose his perspective. He forgets what reasoning led to him to where he stands now. He only knows that he

must have power or death. His humanitarianism is now in the background, as something to be brought forth as moral justification when needed. Everything else is forgotten in his concentration on the struggle, and there is no longer for Oswald any borderline between his personal world and the world in general. He has become totally selfless in this respect. Even the power is not for him is to benefit others. If Oswald has any remnant of selfish desire left in him

by the end, it is for his own death. I often wonder how Lee Oswald would have reacted had he lived to be tried and convicted. Assuming, as I do, that he was the assassin, I imagine that before his execution he would have called a press conference, and, professing innocence in spite of everything, would have made an emotional speech

prophesizing doom and destruction for Western society. His reaction would not have been much different from that of Christ on the way to Golgotha, saying, daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. Of course, on a connotative level, Oswald would have identified himself with Christ, translating this emotion into an identification with

Socco and then Zetti, or with the Rosenbergs. On a conscious level, if he could not be Oswald the Great Power, he would be Oswald the Great by playing the role of Oswald the Oppressed with such an intensity that it would become interesting. By virtue of is becoming a victim of martyrdom then shortcut to respect, which, more than patriotism, is the scoundrel's last refuge. By the twenty second of November nineteen sixty three, Oswald is fully comparable to a

vehicle without a driver. His breaks the fear of death will not be used for under pressure of his blind drive for either power or martyrdom, he has rationalized away or blocked out all that might hinder him. After the act, he will attempt to get a lawyer should he live so long. He expects to die fighting, though, for there was a pessimistic streak in Oswald the oppressed. Some may wonder in whose eyes Oswald thought he would gain respect by assassinating the president of the United States. I do

not know the answer to this. I do not know whether Lee expected most to impress Fidel Castro, or the Trotskyite splinter group of the Communist camp, or the Red

Chinese people or future generations. In this connection, it should be remembered, though, that he apparently took the anti Kennedy propaganda of both Castro and the Trotskyites seriously, that he was apparently convinced of the inevitability of at least a temporary communist world order, and that he was probably out to gain the admiration of as many people as possible. It should be further pointed out that Kennedy's assassination was in fact widely celebrated in Red China. Where could Oswald

have found a larger audience. Others may want to ask how different Oswald was from the kind of man who actually becomes a man of power, a Caesar, Napoleon, or Hitler. Again, I cannot say was Oswald less in touch with reality than they, or was he just at the wrong place in the wrong time. Basically, I think the psychology of

all power seekers is similar. In these foregoing chapters, I have endeavored to set forth the hypothesis which would both cover all the known facts and yet explain what thinking habits could have led as a well meaning, nonviolent man to self destruction and murder. The stage is now set in Oswald's mind for the ultimate act. Later, basing my conclusions on the aft foregoing hypothesis, I'll attempt to determine to some extent what Oswald was thinking as he prepared

to strike. Chapter seven, Lee Oswald and Johnny Shelburne. Leeharvey Oswald was born in October of nineteen thirty nine in Louisiana in New Orleans, Louisiana. He was the son of an insurance salesman whose early death left Lee with a fair mean streak of independence brought on by neglect. After Lee's entry into the United States Marine Corps at seventeen. His streak of independence was strengthened by exotic journeys to Japan and the Philippe and scores of odd islands in

the Pacific. Immediately after serving out his three years in the Marine Corps, he abandoned his American life to seek a new life in the USSR Rewritten from the notes of Lee Harvey Oswald, The Idle Warriors centers around the gradual moral disintegration of a marine who at last affects to Russia. In earlier drafts, certain sections were based almost totally on Oswald. As a matter of fact, Originally my main character's name was Lee Lee Shelburne. Later I changed

his first name to Johnny. The book was not at first, and is not, now, however, intended as a biography of Oswald, to the extent that I was inept as a writer of fiction. The earliest existing draft tends to reflect Lee's character in places. After getting out of the Corps, I went to live in the New Orleans French Quarter in a working part time I there finished a typewritten draft

suitable for submission to publishers. After two rejections, I took a second look at the manuscript and decided to need more work. I put it in a way to incubate and turned other things. In June of nineteen sixty two, I received a newspaper clipping from my parents, who knew of my interest in Oswald. It was headed ex Marine loses Love for Russia, and it concerned Lee's decision to return to Texas. Once again. I was surprised. It seemed

unlike Oswald to ever admit he was wrong. At that time, I thought seriously about going to see him before starting that rewrite. He could provide valuable information. I wrote home in the fall, I'd like to go to Fort Worth for a week and talk to Oswald. There are many technical details on the psychology of communism and how one goes about going to Russia that I need for the conclusion.

After considering the time involved the expense that had my detailed outline for the new draft of the book, he widely departed from any attempt at even a rough sketch of Oswald per se, I decided against the venture. In April of nineteen sixty three. I began rewriting during this summer that I followed during summer that followed, I did some traveling, working as a waiter to keep alive. In September, I returned to New Orleans, not long after Oswald's Fairplay

for Cuba affair had hit the papers. Oh my god, he was involved in that too. That's why he's writing his book to put everything that he did on Oswald. That's exactly what the fuck's going on here. Oswald was still in town at this time, and he was even reputedly stopping in now and then at the bar where I hung out. Okay, so here he's admitting that they

were in town at the same time. They were acknowledging that they were together at the same time in New Orleans at least during this overlap period, which is something he's always denied in the past. We may have passed on the street, but if so, we didn't recognize each other. Only after the assassination did I learn that Oswald had been right under my nose for over two weeks. Ah,

two weeks. So there we have absolute confirmation that there was an overlap in April for two weeks before he leaves to go to Mexico City and then Whittier, California. Fucking dumb this guy. In November, I was working in a French quarter restaurant as a waiter one Friday afternoon, during the lunch hour, the rumor broke at President Kennedy had been shot. Shortly afterwards, as I heard that he was dead. It was a quiet afternoon, with the city in shock. There was no business. I sat with the

other employees having coffee. None of us had a radio. Finally, another waiter came in for night duty with the with some news. They captured a suspect. What is his name? Someone wanted to know. The waiter couldn't remember. Well, someone said, tells us something about him. He's a former marine, supposedly spent some time in Russia. He It was like a guessing game for me, and I guessed the answer on

the first try. Yeah, it's complete bullshit. He was in Dallas from the moment I first heard of his arrests until after he was gunned down by Ruby. I did not believe Oswald could be guilty, but as the facts came in the evidence piled up, I decided there must have been more violence in him than I thought. Still, let me tell you, it is a shock to see a picture on the front page of an evening newspaper of a person you once knew being shot in the belly.

I didn't see Oswald slaying on television. I'm glad I missed it. Upon looking though, at a sequence of photos that included a snap of Lea just before he was killed, I noticed the same defiant little grin, perhaps a sinister smile, which he hid such a complexity of pain and confusion. Searching my memory and poring over the Idle Warriors manuscript, I began the job of post mortem analysis, which was

to climax on these pages. Helpful in my autopsy of a soul were certain fragments of The Idle Warriors that were reproduced and discussed in the chapters to follow. All excerpts to appear here were written before the assassination. They've been selected not on the basis of literary merit, of course, but on the basis of their relevance to Oswald his personality, convictions, and behavior. When news of Oswald first began to appear, I wondered and how any man could have changed so

thoroughly in such a few short years. A national news magazine called him a psychopath, a neurotic, a schizoid, a paranoid, and a probable homosexual, all in the same single column of print. Suddenly I was reading that he was constantly fighting with his fellow marines, and that in the service

he displayed a conspicuous zest for physical violence. I observed no such traits that an appendix of the Warran Report had to be devoted to speculations and rumors, in my mind, argument enough that a good deal of fabrication and exaggeration was involved somewhere along the line. While Oswald had his psychological problems, I doubt he would have been found legally insane had he lived to face a jury. From the sixteenth of April to the seventh of May nineteen fifty three,

Oswald was in the Youth House in New York. At that time he was examined by the chief psychiatrist, doctor Nauda's Hartogs. According to the report of the Warrant Commission, the psychiatric exams Nation did not indicate that Lee Oswald was a potential assassin, potentially dangerous, and that his outlook on life had strongly paranoid overtones, or that he should be institutionalized. It may be argued that anyone capable of committing the act for which Oswald stands accused would have

necessarily had to have been insane. If such is the case, then the type of insanity from which Oswald suffered is yet so prevalent on this planet that it is today still within the category of behavior considered normal. Frankly, I agree that the man was sick, but I further think his sickness was in the long run self induced in

the manner previously outlined. A direct effect of the post assassination hysteria was to make anything objective about Oswald that was published once it did appear seem to be a whitewash, For with his own faults and evasions, he was not, by any means as evil as many men who today pass themselves off as world leaders. At his worst, he was attempting to become one of them, and it is here that his psyche blends with that of Johnny shelburn On.

The pages that follow all attempt to introduce those aspects of Shelburne which most resemble Oswald, good and bad. There is no attempt here involved to make of the man either a hero or a villian. The attempt is to report Chapter eight the mood of man, his difficulty in relating to other people, and his general dissatisfaction with the world around him continued while he was in the Marine Corps.

Quote from the Warren Report in the thirteenth chapter of the old Draft, Johnny shelburn most clearly resembles Oswald in general attitude. The situation and incident involved are based upon my own experience when I was in the process of returning to the States for temporary additional duty in August

or September of nineteen fifty nine. This chapter, here We Come was probably first written in December of that year, about a month after Oswald's defection, and it was then inspired by earlier records from my own day to day notes. For Shelburne's reactions, I was here drawing entirely upon Oswald's personality. The final draft of this particular piece was written in nineteen sixty one. No particularly Shelburne's feeling toward both the sergeants.

He feels in each case that he's made a fair effort to reason with the man in question, but as is typical, he finds him to be oblivious to criticism, and therefore adopts a more fitting attitude of lofty contempt. Also important, in my opinion, is Shelburn's discussed at his own blundering and his inclinations to become peevishly resigned to it, as if it too were something entirely out of his control.

All less significant, but equally valid. Characteristic in relation to a portrayal of Oswald is Shelbourne's expressed reluctance about leaving Japan according to the Power's According to the Powers testimony, Oswald didn't care if he ever wake to turn to the States or not. Johnny stood. This is from chapter thirteen of his book Idle Warriors. This this whole sections of quotation from the book. Johnny stood in front of the mirror in the men's room. Back in the old days,

a couple of weeks ago. He used to swear when he discovered a spot on his uniform or a dirty sock in his shaving kit, some Claud's idea of a joke. Now he just mumbled pretty typical and waited for the next undersized calamity. His garrison cap fell into the washbowl. Next. He was rather happy about it, after all, it could have been the kommode. He placed it back on his head and walked out to the waiting room. Lance Corporal

John R. Shelburne, report to the information desk. The loud speaker said, pretty typically, he thought, what now, here's your order, soldier, said the smart ass Air Force sergeant at the window. Marine Johnny corrected, you won't be much of anything unless you hang on to these orders. Sergeant turned his back and went to work on something else. How great it would be not to be much of anything again. No silly uniforms to get spots on them, he dreamed, and

no orders to worry about losing. A staff sergeant came walking toward him, a Marine staff sergeant. How's it going, corporal? Pretty typical, sergeant? You fine? I understand our flight leaves in thirty minutes. Good. All these airman type doggies are driving me nuts. It'll be good to get out of this rice eaton hole for a while. Well, if state side prices are still high, and if state side women still dressed like men, I think I'll be real happy. I'm only leaving this rice eaton hole for a while.

You'll know soon enough. How long does it take for one of those civilian jobs to fly over the Pacific about thirty hours or so. San Francisco here we come. Then Washington, yep, then Washington. You ever pull liberty in DC? Oh? God, the sergeant said, rolling his eyes. Did I hear it's quite? The town is the town? Period? It almost sounds as good as Yokohama. Glad. Let me sit you straight. There are more women in Washington, and you can shake your

stick at government secretaries and such all over town. Barracks full of them. I believe it'll be when I get there, so I can see it. The loudspeaker said, Flight seventy three for San Francisco via Wake Island, leaving in fifteen minutes. That's us, the steph sergeant said, Get all your gear checked in, right, serge, come with me. The sergeant pulled a bottle out of the shaving kit and headed for

the men's room. In the men's room, Johnny helped him transfer the contents of the fifth into a great number of shaving lotion bottles. Nothing like plenty of inflight refueling with vo flying fuel. The sergeant chuckled to himself as Johnny poured the whiskey through the funnel. Hey, that shore looks good. It was the air force sergeant from the information desk. Mind if I have a swig? Get lost wing wiper? Johnny kept pouring. Hey, corporal, who do you think?

Shut up? Serge, said the Marine staff sergeant. Just keep pouring, Johnny. It was the first time the staff sergeant had called him by name. It was typical of something something vague, but still typical. There was no loud speaker in the men's room, and they lost track of the time. Submarine stuck his head in the door and yelled, anybody here for flight seventy three? Right here, said the staff sergeant, and he gathered up the bottles and dumped them into

his bulky shaving kit. Well get going, Hell, they ain't gonna wait. Here we come. Johnny followed the sergeant through the terminal and out of the plane. They charged up the gangway. Got your ticket, yep, serge, got my ticket, got my orders, Got a coffee? Staying on my uniform? What nothing? The stewardess smiled, like a well trained robot. The sergeant got in his seat and tried to flirt with a young mother across the aisle. Johnny fastened his

safety belt. Got your safety belt fastened? Corporal belt fastened? Orders inhaled and spot on uniform situation normal? What nothing? What happened to your hat? It looks like you dropped it in the commode. I wish I had I would have flushed it down. Johnny looked out the window at the runway lights. You know, Serge, this is all pretty typical of something. I don't know what. What are you talking about? Nothing, Sarge, not a goddamn thing. It was

lucky the engines were revving up. It gave Johnny an excuse to yell, so Carrie throwing. He's like the most full of shit person ever. He was a perfect, perfect spook for the CIA. You know, it's funny because he's talking all this rebellious stuff and forget about the the the quotes here from the Idle Warriors, but what he was saying about his own attitudes in the Marine Corps like complete nonsense. Right, This fucking guy was a teacher's pet all through fucking high school. I don't even know

that he fucking finished high school. There's some really major contradiction stuff over when he was in the Marines and what he was doing in high school. Right, I had in college too, You know, I think I narrowed it down to like a three month period. He could have possibly gone to college, like he said, but I don't know. But no, he was a kiss ass and then he was obviously such a cast ass that he got recruited by the CIA at the Voice of Democracy contest, right,

So this guy is completely full of shit. All of us somewhat talk about rebellion against the Marine Corps and whatnot, and how communism was kind of prevalent, Like, fuck right off, dude, you're just making it up at this point. But that's gonna do it for me today. Guys. We will pick up on chapter nine when we come back, maybe tomorrow, maybe on Wednesday. If you haven't picked up any of my books yet, please go out and do so. I would appreciate it. And that's gonna do it for me today.

I will see you guys later