End of Days

by James L. Swanson

  Several witnesses saw Oswald either shoot Tippit or flee the scene. One man heard him mutter “poor dumb cop” or “poor damn cop” as he fled. Some of them followed him, and then, from a safe distance, began chasing him. Less than one hour after the assassination of President Kennedy, but without knowing they were in pursuit of the president’s killer, a small posse of several citizens was chasing Lee Harvey Oswald through the streets of Dallas.

  As he ran, Oswald loaded four fresh bullets into his pistol and pushed the cylinder into firing position. He was ready to kill again.

  WHY DID Oswald murder Tippit? Did the officer believe he matched the description of the suspect broadcast by the police dispatcher? Did Oswald appear nervous, evasive, or suspicious? Did Tippit threaten to take him in for questioning? The only logical reason for Oswald to murder a police officer was to avoid immediate arrest. Or maybe Oswald just panicked. It was a rash and foolhardy thing to do. Several witnesses could identify him as a cop-killer. As soon as they reported the shooting, the whole neighborhood would be crawling within minutes with police officers and detectives hunting for him. The Tippit shooting dramatically reduced Oswald’s chances of escape.

  If Oswald had not killed Tippit, he would have had more time to carry out his escape. He had not yet been identified by name as a suspect in the assassination of the president. It would have taken time for the Secret Service and Dallas police to obtain a roster of all Book Depository employees and then conduct a roll call to discover if any of them were missing from the premises. Once they discovered Oswald’s absence, they would have sent men to his boardinghouse; they would discover that he had already been there and gone. Then, within a few hours, they would have discovered strange things about him—his discharge from the Marine Corps; his interest in Russia, Cuba, and Communism; and his defection to the Soviet Union and return to the United States.

  Buell Frazier would tell them about the curtain rods that morning, and he could lead them to Ruth Paine’s house and to Oswald’s Russian-born wife, Marina. Also, once they found the rifle, they could begin tracing its serial number to the place that sold it and to the name of the person who bought it. That would also take time. Enough to give him at least a couple hours, and maybe more, as a head start. If Oswald was lucky, the authorities might not name him as a suspect or show his picture on TV until late that afternoon or the evening. The newspapers might not even print his name and photograph until the next morning.

  But Oswald destroyed all of that advantage. Not until he killed a policeman did he become the object of a furious manhunt. Back at the Book Depository, the Dallas Police, FBI, and Secret Service were still trying to fit the pieces together. No one had pursued Oswald after he left the building. No one had been searching for him. But now, forty-five minutes after he had strolled away from the Book Depository, Oswald was running for his life.

  LYNDON JOHNSON waited aboard Air Force One for the hearse carrying Kennedy’s body to arrive at the airport. He was already aboard the plane before the Kennedy entourage left the hospital at 2:08 P.M. (CST). Some of Johnson’s political advisers were urging him to fly back to Washington right away and leave Mrs. Kennedy behind to catch Air Force Two, the vice presidential jet, later in the day. Rufus Youngblood agreed. Nothing was more important than protecting the life of the new president. The best way to do that was to get Lyndon Johnson back to the capital as soon as possible. If this was a conspiracy, and if LBJ was the next target, he needed to get out of Dallas.

  In one of his first acts as chief executive, he decided they would not fly back to Washington immediately and abandon Mrs. Kennedy in Dallas. Because she refused to leave without her husband’s corpse and because Johnson refused to depart without her, he ordered Air Force One to wait. All of them would fly back together. Johnson also decided that he would take the oath of office on the ground in Dallas before the plane took off.

  At Parkland, JFK’s agents wheeled his coffin to the hearse. Jackie refused to be separated from her husband, so she sat in back, next to the casket. Clint Hill and two military officers sat with her. Three Secret Service agents, including the driver, sat in front. The modest motorcade—the white Cadillac hearse followed by four cars—from the hospital to the airport was not as grand as the one that had left Love Field for downtown Dallas just two hours ago. During the ride, Admiral Burkley got Jackie’s attention. He offered her two of the red roses from her bouquet. They were in perfect condition. “These were under, were in his shirt,” he told her. They had broken off the bouquet during the mayhem in the presidential limousine. She put them in one of the pockets of her pink suit.

  Secret Service agents and members of President Kennedy’s staff carry his casket aboard Air Force One.

  (Cecil Stoughton, courtesy of the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum)

  The hearse drove onto the field. At the airport, Kennedy’s aides and Secret Service agents carried the heavy burden up the stairs of an airline ramp and onto the plane. They could barely lift it—it weighed eight hundred pounds, not counting the added weight of the president’s body. Then it would not fit through the airplane door—it was too wide. To make the coffin narrower, they had to break the carrying handles off its sides so they could push it onto the plane. They secured it in a small cabin near the back, where some seats had been removed to accommodate it.

  Although the coffin was now on board, Lyndon Johnson did not want Air Force One to depart Dallas until he took the oath of office and was sworn in as the thirty-sixth president of the United States. Johnson, a Texan, had summoned an old friend, a local federal district court judge named Sarah T. Hughes, to rush to Love Field to swear him in. This was all a great bit of historical drama, because in fact the swearing in was a formality to confirm what had already happened. Johnson did not need to take the oath in order to assume the office—by authority of the United States Constitution he had already become president upon the death of his predecessor.

  But Lyndon Johnson wanted to take the oath at once as a symbol of the continuity of the American government. A president might die, but democracy would live. And he wanted the ceremony photographed to transmit that symbol around the world. A White House photographer, Captain Cecil Stoughton, was aboard the plane. He loaded two cameras with film and planned in his head where he and the new president should stand in the cramped cabin to create the most solemn and impressive photograph. The image would convey that Johnson was now in charge of the government.

  WQMR got word of what was about to happen. “Just to show you how swiftly action is taken, as it was upon the assassination of President Lincoln, Johnson—Lyndon Johnson—is expected to be sworn in aboard an airliner, before flying back immediately to the nation’s capital. So, possibly, at this very instant as we are speaking, Vice President Lyndon Johnson is becoming the president of the United States aboard an airliner.”

  By tradition, when a president took the oath of office, he stood alone, raised his right hand, and repeated the words of the oath spoken to him by the chief justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. On November 22, Lyndon Johnson had something else in mind. He wanted two people standing by his side. One was his wife, Lady Bird. The other was Jackie Kennedy. It was a bold and, in the opinion of some of President Kennedy’s staffers, an outrageous and offensive request. How could a woman widowed just hours ago, under the most horrible of circumstances, be expected to pose for pictures? Johnson realized that his request demanded sensitivity, delicacy, and tact.

  Before he became vice president, when he was a United States senator and held the powerful post of majority leader, he was renowned for his legendary skill at persuading other people to do what he asked. But it was one thing to strong-arm a fellow politician in a backroom deal over a piece of legislation in Congress, and quite another to handle the bereaved and beloved First Lady of the United States, who was still in a state of shock after seeing her husband murdered in front of her eyes. LBJ sensed he could not delegate this request to others. He would
have to appeal to Jackie himself.

  Lyndon and Lady Bird Johnson went to Jacqueline Kennedy’s private compartment to offer their condolences. “Dear God, it’s come to this,” said Lady Bird. Jackie said she was grateful her husband did not die alone: “Oh, what if I had not been there. Oh, I am so glad I was there.”

  Lady Bird asked her if she would like to change into fresh clothes. No, the new widow replied, “I want them to see what they have done to Jack.”

  Then LBJ broached the awkward subject. “Well—about the swearing in,” he said.

  Jackie indicated that she understood: “Oh, yes, I know, I know. What’s going to happen?”

  Johnson explained that he had summoned a federal judge to administer the presidential oath aboard Air Force One before the plane flew back to Washington. LBJ wanted her standing by his side. It was for history. Believing she had agreed, Johnson left her alone to compose herself until Judge Hughes arrived.

  More than one person suggested to Jackie that she change clothes. Her suit, white gloves, and stockings were caked with dried blood—the bright red, wet blood spilled two hours ago had, after exposure to oxygen, solidified and taken on a darker color. Each time someone asked her, the more adamant she became. “Everybody kept saying to me to put a cold towel around my head and wipe the blood off.” But she defied them. No, she insisted, she would not change. “I want them to see what they’ve done,” she repeated more than once.

  To prepare for the swearing-in ceremony, she retired to her small bathroom. There, she said, “I saw myself in the mirror; my whole face was spattered with blood and hair . . . I wiped it off with Kleenex . . . then one second later I thought, why did I wash the blood off? I should have left it there, to let them see what they’ve done. . . . If I’d just had the blood and caked hair when they took the picture . . . I should have kept the blood on.”

  EVERYTHING WAS ready for the swearing in. But Johnson was still waiting for Jackie. He did not want to proceed without her. Johnson spotted two of Kennedy’s aides and said, “Do you want to ask Mrs. Kennedy if she would like to stand with us?” They hesitated. “She said she wants to be here when I take the oath,” the new president told them. “Why don’t you see what’s keeping her?”

  Ken O’Donnell went to Jackie, who told him, “I think I ought to. In the light of history, it would be better if I was there.”

  She emerged from her room and entered the cabin where Lyndon Johnson, Judge Hughes, the photographer, and a number of the passengers awaited her. Merriman Smith was on the plane as a pool reporter and watched the scene unfold. “The large center cabin was dark, all shades drawn, members of the Kennedy staff sitting around, some staring straight ahead, some crying softly.”

  Cecil Stoughton had started taking pictures of the scene even before Jackie walked in. Then she appeared. Smith saw it all. “Mrs. Kennedy walked down the narrow corridor from her bed chamber and into the lounge. She was dry eyed, but her face was a mask of shock.” Her appearance startled everyone—they had assumed she would change into a fresh outfit. Then Johnson held her hand. The gesture struck Smith: “Like a man might lead a small child, Johnson took her hand and led Jackie to a place at his left side.” LBJ told her, “This is the saddest moment of my life.” Lady Bird Johnson stood at her husband’s right. Stoughton raised one of his cameras, and then, as Judge Hughes read the oath and Johnson repeated it, the photographer took several shots before switching to his second camera. The only other sounds in the cabin were the clicking shutters of the cameras.

  Lyndon Johnson being sworn in aboard Air Force One before it departs Dallas.

  (Cecil Stoughton, courtesy of the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum)

  Jackie’s appearance horrified Stoughton, who aimed his lens high to crop out the lower part of her body to hide the bloody skirt and stockings.

  At 2:38 P.M. (CST), Johnson raised his right hand and was sworn in as the thirty-sixth president of the United States. It took less than a minute for him to speak the words: “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God.”

  Lyndon Johnson had already been president for almost two hours, but when the oath was done, his presidency officially began. And Stoughton had taken what remains, to this day, perhaps the most iconic, riveting, and harrowing photographs in all of American history.

  After the swearing in, Jackie returned to the back of the plane, to the casket, where she found Ken O’Donnell, Larry O’Brien, and Dave Powers. She sat down and began to weep. “Oh, it’s happened.”

  Lyndon Johnson gave an order: “Now, let’s get airborne.”

  Before Air Force One left Dallas, Stoughton hurried off the plane with his cameras and film. It was his job to rush to develop the pictures so they could be published in the evening newspapers throughout the country.

  Within a few minutes, Air Force One hurtled down the runway and took flight for Washington.

  BY THE time Oswald made it to a commercial district on West Jefferson Boulevard, he had lost the people who had followed him from the Tippit murder scene. For now, he was safe. But then he made a mistake. When he heard a police siren, he turned his back to the street and pretended to study a display of footwear behind the plate-glass windows of a shoe store. That attracted the attention of the manager, Calvin Brewer. Oswald seemed furtive and suspicious. He watched Oswald and followed him down the sidewalk. Then, at 1:40 P.M., Oswald ducked inside a movie theater at 231 West Jefferson, sneaking past the ticket seller’s window without paying for admission. He took a risk when he hid inside the Texas Theatre. If anyone had followed him there, one telephone call would summon a dozen police cars to the scene. Police departments were, and still are, relentless in pursuing a criminal who has shot one of their own. Even if Oswald had evaded his pursuers, his failure to buy a movie ticket might provoke theater employees to call the police to report a nonpaying customer. Either way, Oswald could find himself trapped inside a building with no escape.

  Someone had followed Oswald. It was the shoe-store manager. He had tracked him to the theater. When he saw Oswald duck inside, he persuaded employees there to call the police.

  Oswald had murdered John Kennedy less than an hour and a half ago. Now he sat in the darkness of a theater watching a matinee showing of a movie about World War II titled War Is Hell. The theater was nearly empty. A few men occupied scattered seats. Oswald sat near the back.

  Oswald did not enjoy the movie for long. Several police cars pulled up in front of the theater, and detectives ran inside toward the screen and climbed onto the stage. The houselights went on, and a witness identified Oswald. As officers rushed him, Oswald shouted, “This is it!” Others heard him say “Well it’s all over now.” He punched one policeman in the face, then he reached for his pistol. He was eager to kill more cops. One of them grabbed his arm and tried to twist the revolver out of his hand. Another punched him. Another whacked him in the head with the butt of a shotgun.

  Overpowered, Oswald gave up. “Don’t hit me anymore. I am not resisting arrest!” Then he shouted, “I protest police brutality!” As the police tried to drag Oswald out of the theater he yelled, “They’re violating my civil rights!”

  In the lobby, he spotted a TV camera and shouted, “I want my lawyer. I know my rights. Typical police brutality. Why are you doing this to me?”

  At 1:50 P.M. (CST), one hour and twenty minutes after the president had been shot, Oswald was in custody. But his captors did not know the importance of their prisoner. They were not sure they had caught Kennedy’s killer—although they had their suspicions—but they were convinced they had just apprehended the cold-blooded murderer of Officer Tippit.

  At 1:52 P.M., they shoved their prisoner into a car and drove him to police headquarters at City Hall, a building not far from the Texas School Book Depository.

  In the car, Oswald demande
d, “What’s this all about? I know my rights. I don’t know why you are treating me like this. Why am I being arrested? The only thing I’ve done is carry a pistol in a movie.” Oswald added, “I don’t see why you have handcuffed me.”

  One of the detectives said, “You’ve done a lot more. You have killed a policeman.”

  “Police officer been killed?” Oswald asked. “I hear they burn for murder. You fry for that.”

  “You might find out,” a policeman replied.

  “Well,” Oswald countered about the electric chair, “they say it just takes a second to die.”

  Oswald kept refusing to identify himself, so a policeman pulled the wallet out of his pocket and searched it for identification. He found a library card bearing the name of Lee Oswald. Then he found another document with the name A. J. Hidell, one of Oswald’s aliases.

  When the car arrived at the City Hall garage, the police advised their suspect that he might want to turn his face away from the journalists and TV cameras waiting for him there. He was defiant: “Why should I hide my face? I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of.”

  LEE HARVEY Oswald was about to face the first of several police interrogations. He would be pitted against a savvy homicide detective, Will Fritz, a department legend and veteran master of extracting confessions. He would become the suspect’s principal interrogator in what would become a multiday game of cat-and-mouse with the chatty assassin.

  Good cops had good instincts. From his first encounter with Oswald, Fritz’s intuition told him this was the man who had murdered the president. In the hours ahead, Dallas police, FBI, and Secret Service would not be the only ones allowed to question him. Others who had no business doing so, who could help spoil the legal case against Oswald, would soon have access to him too.