Twice Dead - Exploring JFK Assassination Fiction

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Speaker 1: Good morning, everybody. Corey Hues Bloody History. So today I'm

going to do something a little different. Today, I want

to talk about a subject that no one ever really

talks about, because I'm sure nobody even really knows it exists,

and that is the subject of Kennedy assassination fiction. I

kind of want to call it fan fiction, but I

don't know. It's There is no original author for the

Kennedy assassination, not in the terms we would expect literarily, so,

but yes, there's a whole world of Kennedy assassination fiction,

which I think is rather fascinating. Perhaps it's a way

for someone to explain how they think the assassination went down,

but not in a way that they could say is nonfiction. Right,

They're kind of in putting their own speculations and whatnot

and putting it out as fiction. I don't think I'll

ever do that, although I might have to to get

my explanation across at some point in time in the future.

But today I want to go through and read a

couple chapters from a book called Twice Dead by Larry D. Names,

which I promise you is not a real name. So

this book originally came out in nineteen seventy eight, and

I don't think there's a real name on this thing

at all. And I'm pretty confident whatever publisher put this

thing out as Long Out of Business Leisure Books, New

York City, published by Nordon Publications, Two Park Avenue, New York,

New York, Copyright nineteen seventy eight by Nordon Publications, All

rights reserved. On the front cover, it says Lee Harvey

Oswald died on November twenty fourth, nineteen sixty three. Everybody

knows that, but what if Everybody's wrong? And so? On

the back cover, it says, what if what if the

man Jack Ruby shot in November nineteen sixty three wasn't

Lee Harvey Oswald? What if Oswald had a double? What

if the man the world knew was Oswald was that

double and Oswald was still alive? Those were the questions

which Tom Reagan, investigative reporter of The Morning Sun, set

out to answer. He thought the story would make him

rich and famous. It almost made him dead. So the

thing that really caught my attention when I stumbled across

this book is that the first chapter in it is

Kooby Point the Philippines March tenth, nineteen fifty nine, which

I found to be rather fascinating because, as y'all know,

I am working on the book on Oswald's time in

the Marines, about fifty pages into it. That'll be out

as soon as I put out volume two of A

Warning from History, which realistically should be out by the

end of the month. What is it May fourteenth? That

gives me two weeks to the end of the month. Yep,

that has to happen, actually, because I got to go

to Flora the first week of June, and I need

to have this book done and ready and out before

I go, so you will definitely see that. And then

by October November ish you should see My Heart Oswald

and Black and White volume two. So yes, I caught

my attention, Kooby Point the Philippines, March tenth, nineteen fifty nine,

and this is chapter one. Let's go ahead and get started.

I'm not going to read this entire book to you, guys,

It's less than two hundred pages, but something like this

will only do this episode on. I figure if you

like the book, after you've heard the first couple chapters,

you go pick it up. Support Larry D names whoever

the hell that is all right, So here we go.

Chapter one Kooby Point the Philippines. March tenth, nineteen fifty nine.

Elis David O'Toole, Corporal, United States Marine Corps, entered his

barracks shortly after lunch. He walked directly to his bunk,

which was situated in the middle of the long room.

He was going to get a pack of cigarettes out

of his foot locker. He squatted down in front of

the locker, taking the combination lock in his left hand,

but as he did, he noticed something was wrong with

his bunk. There was a wrinkle in the blanket, which

suggested to him that someone had sat on his bunk morning.

Who the hell's been sitting on my bunk, he swore

to himself angrily. O'Toole dropped the lock and proceeded to

smooth out the wrinkle in the blanket. Being an extremely

meticulous person, he was truly upset by the incident. He

would make it a point to find out who had

done the misdeed. He returned to his locker to fetch

the cigarettes he had come for in the first place.

He twisted the dial with the right combination and the

lock popped open. He removed the lock and lifted the

lid to discover that his cigarettes were in the wrong position.

The brand name was upside down. That was strange because

he always placed the packs with the brand name in

such a position that it could be read instantly when

the locker was opened. O'Toole concluded that someone had gotten

into his locker during the morning while he was at work.

He was certain that someone had burglarized his possessions. He

began a systematic check of them to see if anything

was missing. He counted the packs of cigarettes. All were there.

He opened his shaving kit, raisor and toothbrush were there.

His uniforms were in the right places. Personal effect were

next to accounted for, penn pencil, writing, tablet, letters from

home all there, Cameras, radios, pictures. His pictures were missing. Why,

he asked himself. The answer was eighteen years away. Chapter

two Glenn Egan, Wisconsin, February eighth, nineteen seventy seven. The

telephone rang in the office of the Weekly Times, the

oldest newspaper in central Wisconsin. The secretary answered the call.

It's a long distance for you, Tom, she announced in

a voice loud enough for the whole crew to hear.

The regular office crew consisted of six women and two men.

Only four of the women and Thomas Marshall Reagan were

present at the time of the call. The girls, as

Reagan referred to them, away from the office, pretended not

to be listening, but they were all ears, especially when

Reagan received a call. Being the products of a small town,

they were always ready to overhear all conversations, particularly if

the person calling Reagan was a woman. Since Reagan was unmarried,

his personal life was open to much speculation. I'll take

it in Barney's office, said Reagan as he swiveled in

his chair. Reagan pushed himself out of his chair and

walked into Barney Nutter's office. The editor's private domain was

supposed to be off limits when he was not around,

but Reagan liked to use it whenever possible, because it

offered him the privacy he liked when talking on the phone,

and because it was one of the many little ways

of getting it. Nutter, a boss who was rumored to

be a descendant of Ebenezer Scrooge. Reagan closed the door

behind him and flopped down in Nutter's chair. He picked

up the receiver and pushed the button below the flashing

red dot. This is Tom Reagan, May I help you?

Hello Tommy? This is Colleen Collein O'Toole was Reagan's younger

sister who had lived in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Two of them

saw each other infrequently, but they spoke regularly over the telephone,

which usually happened when one or the other had a

problem and needed a friendly ear. As brother and sister,

they were about to close about as close as to

people in the same family could ever be. Say a little, sister,

what's happening in Okiville these days? Not much more than

what's happening up there inside the Arctic circle? She drawled.

Is everyone okay down there? If you're asking if Mom's

all right, then the answer is yes. But if you're

asking about me, then the answer is no. I stayed

home from work today with strep throat, but that isn't

why I called. Then why did you call someone else sick? No,

everyone's fine. I called because I think Dave and I

have a problem. Sorry, I do not give advice on

marital problems. It's the quickest way I know to wear

out your welcome with your friends and relatives. It's not

that kind of problem. Our lives maybe in danger. Isn't

that a little melodramatic? Who is at this time the mafia,

a Russian spy? Or is the lunatic down the street again?

I'm serious, Tom, Okay, tell big brother all about it.

That's better, she sighed, Now listen closely. Reagan knew that

his sister had a punchant exaggeration. As she began to

tell him her bizarre tale, he wondered how much of

it would be fact and how much would be her

active imagination. Last night, Colleen began, a man called and

wanted to talk to Dave. I answered the phone in

the bedroom and Dave took it in the kitchen. Well,

I listened in on their conversation instead of hanging up

the extension. What I heard really has me worried. Well,

tell me what you heard, and I'll decide if you

have anything to worry about. Okay, she sighed again. Well,

this man said he was writing a book on the

life of Lee Harvey Oswald. He asked Dave if he

could remember anything about Oswald. Dave said he didn't know Oswald,

but the man said he must have known him because

Oswald was stationed with him in the Marines. Dave said

he didn't know Oswald when he was in the Marines. Well,

the man said he must have known him because they've

been stationed at all the same places at the same times.

Dave still denied knowing Oswald. Then the man asked Dave

if he knew Paul Begdanovich, and Dave said he did.

The man said that according to the records he got

from the Marines, Paul, Dave and Oswald were in the

same Philippines were in the Philippines at the same time

in nineteen fifty nine, and at the same place. Dave

said that there had at been at that time, but

he couldn't remember Oswald. Well, the man said he wanted

to talk to Dave about it some more, and he

asked if he could visit us when he came to Tulsa.

Dave said he'd be wasting his time, but he told

the man he'd be welcome to come by when he

was in town. So just for the just for the

point of note, Oswald was back by nineteen fifty nine

from at Sugi and the Philippines, and all that he

was back when on vacation came back and was at

Santa Anna by the time fifty nine rolled around. So

what's the big deal, Colleen? After the man hung up,

Dave told me that he hadn't told him the whole truth.

He hadn't actually known Oswald. But he hadn't actually known Oswald,

but he did know something about him from those days.

Like what, I'm afraid to tell you everything over the phone.

What's the matter? It's bugged? It might be you never

know what these things I guess, sighed Reagan. Well what

do you want from me? Tommy? I wish you'd come

down here and talk to Dave about this thing. There's

a lot more to it, and I think you're the

only one who can help. What do you need help for?

Our lives may be in danger. How do you figure

that Paul Begdanovitch may be the only two people alive

who know that Lee Harvey Oswald had a different name

when he was in the Marines, What said Reagan as

he sat upright in the chair. You heard me. I've

heard all those stories about the conspiracy and all those

witnesses dying accidentally or suddenly. If those stories are true,

and what Dave thinks is also true, then all our

lives may be in danger if Oswald did have a

different name, and Dave and Paul are the only two

people who know it than their lives, and now mine

and yours could be in danger. Reagan went over his

sister's story for a few seconds in his head. Neither

of them spoke in the interim. You just might have

something to hear, Colleen. Let me think about it and

I'll call you back later. Okay, okay, I'll wait for

your call. They said their farewells, and Reagan put down

the receiver. He remained seated in his boss's chair while

he mulled over Colleen's story again. But he could come

away any any could come to any conclusions or make

any decisions about it. Barney Nutter opened the door. Reagan

looked up to see the editor looming over him from

the doorway. What the hell do you think you're doing

in here, boomed Nutter. I was just using your phone,

said Reagan, without rising from Nutter's chair. Haven't you got

a phone on your own desk? Yeah? But shit, get

your ass out of my chair and get back to

work at your own desk now. Reagan sat there, glaring

up at Nutter, who towered over him like some sort

of beast about to devour him. Nutter leaned over a

little to emphasize his command. Reagan got up from the

chair as he thought of a better way to settle

things with Nutter. Pardon me, said Reagan, as the edge

passed Nutter. In the outer office, Reagan took deliberate steps

as he marched over to his desk, the oldest and

most dilapidated one in the room. He pushed his chair

out of the way as he reached up to remove

his favorite cartoon from the wall where he had taped

it the day Barney Nutter became the editor of the

Weekly Times. He pulled his chair out again and sat down.

He picked up a black marking pen and printed a

few carefully chosen words under the cartoon's caption. After editing

the cartoon, Reagan rolled his chair back from the desk,

stood up, and marched himself back to Barney's office. The

door was closed. He started to knock, but thought better

of it. Instead, he opened the door and went in

without closing the door behind him. Barney, I've got something

for you to read, said Reagan as he unceremoniously handed

over the cartoon with the extra Reagan touch on it.

Nutter took the caricature of the beleaguered white collar worker

leaning over his employer's desk. He read the caption and said,

you can't fire me, you have to sell slaves. Reagan

had edited it to say you can't fire me, you

have to sell slaves, Nutter, but this one just got emancipated.

Therefore I quit none of the new caption, Nutter read.

Look up, Barney, but keep your mouth closed. I can't

stand your filthy breath or rotten teeth. Nutter looked up

to see Reagan displaying the middle finger of his hands

and upright positions. You already know what these mean, Nutter,

said a triumphant Reagan. But did you know that your

wife is the best forty year old piece of tal

in town. Everyone else knows it. With that, Reagan grabbed

the doorknob and closed the door behind him. As he

walked out on a life that he thought he had

always dreamed of having. He went to his desk to

retrieve a few personal items. He grabbed his coat and

headed for the front door. Stopping in front of it,

he turned around to face the girls who had been

watching his every movement for the past six months. Well, goodbye, girls,

he said, I hope the next guy to come here

is a queer. Then he will have to worry about

who screws and tells. A moment later, Reagan was in

his car. His next stop would be Tulsa, Oklahoma. Chapter three, Tulsa,

February tenth, nineteen seventy seven. Reagan parked his car in

the driveway of the little house on Trenton Street. He

switched off the engine, but remained in the seat for

a moment as he stared at his mother's darkened house.

He was exhausted from the long drive from Wisconsin. It

had taken him almost a complete day to tie up

all his loose ends in Glen Egan. He had packed

nearly everything he owned in his Toyota. He had called

his sister to inform her that he was coming, as

she had requested, she was to expect some time during

the next two days. He had felt it would be

wiser to get a good night's rest before leaving, so

he spent one last night in his cluttered apartment. The

following morning, he had gone to his landlad to ask

for a refund on the rent he would not be

using because he had no plans of returning to Glen Egan.

She refused to refund any money to him. Reagan decided

to let it slide. He figured she owed him half

of the month's rent, and the lamp in the bedroom

was worth that much. It was a fair exchange. He

had informed the telephone company to disconnect his service, and

he had done likewise with the utility company to ensure

that there was no more charges for services rendered beyond

that day. Reagan had turned off the gas and electricity himself,

and he had cut a one foot section out of

a telephone cord. The last stop on the way out

of town had been the bank. He had withdrawn all

but one dollar from his savings account. It had always

been his belief that it was unlucky to close a

savings account. It was a silly superstition, but he adhered

to it almost religiously. He had filed the passbook with

six others he had accumulated to that point in his life.

Each one had one dollar to its last entry. Reagan

had told no one in Glen Egan where he was going,

nor had he left a forwarding address with the Postal Service.

He decided he wanted to leave that little Midwestern town

to itself. As far as Glen Egan was concerned, Thomas

Marshall Reagan was just another train passing through in the night.

He would never come that way again. As he gazed

at the white house in front of him, Reagan wondered

what kind of reception his mother was going to give

him this time. She was always happy to see her

second oldest son, but she was always glad for different reasons.

One time she'd be delighted to see him because she

was broke and needed money. Another time was because her

car needed fixing. It was always something different, but she

was always glad to see him. Finally, Reagan opened the

car door to drag his fatigued body to the front

door of the one story house. The screen door was

still broken, which meant the doorbell was probably not working either.

He wrapped the wooden sash with the knuckles of his

right hand, his finger joints ached from the pounding them

too hard. He figured that he had made enough noise

to wake up the whole neighborhood. The shades were drawn

over the windows, despite the fact Reagan could see that

he had a light come on in his sister's Laurie's bedroom.

Moments after the first light's appearance, another one illuminated the

living room. The shade over the living room window was

peeled back by a hand with long fingers. She saw

the forehead and eyes of his sister peek out at him.

Her eyes widened with recognition, and the shade fell back

in place. It's Tommy, he heard, Laurie shout from inside

the in, said Reagan, it's cold out here. The door

opened in front of him. Laurie was standing behind it

in her bathrobe. Reagan stepped inside, and she closed the

door behind him. He turned to her praise his sister's appearance.

Laurie was only sixteen, but she was already taller than Reagan,

a fact that was due to her having a different father.

A lock of her diss dishwater blonde hair was hanging

over the corner of her right eye, still possessing some

baby fat, Laurie was already a lot of woman. My Lord,

where did you come from? Drawled Laurie, in an attempt

to hide her pleasure at seeing Reagan. Same place as

you did, kid, said Reagan my mother, except I came first,

So show a little respect when you're talking to an elder.

You ain't my elder, she sneered. You wouldn't want to

bet on that, would you. Reagan grabbed her by the

wrist and pulled her toward him. As she flopped down

on the sofa, He caught her legs between his knees,

then forced her to bend over in a spanking position.

She tried to resist, but Reagan was too strong for her.

Tommy stopped it. She cried. He swatted her squarely on

the rump. How she screamed, Now, when you're big enough

to stop me from doing this, I'll stop being your elder.

Do I make myself clear? You better let me go?

He spanked her again. Ow a little more respect. Okay, okay,

what the hell's going on here? Demanded Reagan's mother as

she waddled into the living room from her hall. Just

helping you fetch this kid up? Right, Mom? I don't

need no help. I'll remember that next time you called

a cry on my shoulder about what an ungrateful little

brat that Laurie is. I never in my life called

any of my kids a brat. Bull. You watch your mouth, boy,

she warned, with the same fire in her eyes that

she placed in her hair. Why is it going somewhere,

Thomas Marshall? One more smart word out of that foul

mouth of yours, and I'll tan your hide. She looked

menacing enough to do it, but Reagan knew her better

than that. He burst out laughing as he released Laurie

from her position of punishment. Come here, fat lady, said

Reagan as he patted the sofa next to him, and

give good old boy a hug and a kiss. Who

you call a fat lady? She snarled. If you're going

to take that attitude, I'll go stay at Colleen's. Reagan

stood up as if he really intended to leave his

mother moved between him and the door. Where do you

think you're going? Reagan answered her by surrounding the roundness

of her frame with his arms and his love. He

squeezed her to him, and she reciprocated by locking her

short but powerful arms around his neck. How are your son,

she asked joyously. I'm fine, mom, he replied, as he

started to kiss her. Hope, she said, as she turned

her cheek to his lips. I told you the last

time you was here. I don't kiss no one with

a beard, Reagan laughed as he rubbed his multicolored whiskers

against her cheek and neck. Now, stop that, Tommy, she giggled.

What are you doing here in the first place? Didn't

Colleen tell you I was coming? That girl? Don't tell

me nothing. None of your kids tell me a damn thing.

I'm always the last to find out what's going on. Well,

I came down here to talk to her and Dave

and about his career in the Marines. Did she call

you about that crap? What crap? That crap about Dave

and Lee Harvey Oswald? No, what about it? Did you

tell you their lives were in danger? Yeah? She did?

What about it? That's a lot of bull. You mean

Dave wasn't in the Marines? What Lee Harvey Oswald? Reagan

was beginning to panic. No, he wasn't in the Marines

with him. Colleen called me yesterday and she said the

man who'd called Dave before called again. Dave was in

a different outfit than Lee Harvey Oswald. Are you sure

of that, mom? Of course, I'm sure. That's really great,

shouted Reagan as he jumped to his feet and started

to pace the room. That's really terrific here. I thought

something fantastic was going to be found out, and I'd

get to write about the story. I get to write

the story about it. So I quit my job, and

now there's no story. It's really a fantastic damn it. Colleen. Yeah,

you can always get another job, like hell, I can.

You don't know what I said to my former employer

when I quit? What'd you do? Tell him to go

to hell or something? I wish I was all i'd done. Well,

you go to sleep in my room. Everything will be

brighter up when the sun comes up, like hell, it will.

I'm going over to Colleen's right now to thank her

for helping screw up my life, as if I needed

any help. You'll do no such thing. You're going onto

the other room and you're going to get some rest.

Reagan's mother was adamant on the subject, and he knew

it would be senseless to argue with her. He went

to his mother's bedroom, but he refused to sleep at first,

he too was angry with Colleen. To rest. He undressed

and got into bed, stared at the ceiling, began rehearsing

the tongue lashing. He wanted to give his sister when

she would when he would see her later that morning,

But as fatigue beat down his angry spirit, forcing it

to rest, Reagan had cooled his temper at the insistence

of his mother before calling Colleen. Oh, Tommy, I'm so

glad you're here, said Colleen. Where are you now? I'm

at Mom's, he said, coolly good. I'm not going to

work today, so come over here right away. I've got

a lot to tell you. Oh really, he said, sarcastically,

Like what you know what? You came here? Look, Colleen,

Mom told me about the second call from that man

that writer. I figured she would. I only told her

so she wouldn't worry. You know how easily she gets excited.

I just didn't want her getting upset over this. Is

that the truth? As the Lord is my witness, Reagan

knew that his sister did not take the Lord's name

in vain. Whenever she called upon him to testify to

her veracity. She was telling the whole truth without exaggeration

or magnification, as she was often known to do. I

bought it once, Colleen, Tommy, she whined, I guess that

was just the down payment. Okay, I'll be right over.

Dave and Colleen lived on the south side of Tulsa

from his mother's house. It was half hour's drive through

heavy traffic most of the way. They lived in an

apartment complex where all the buildings were exactly alike, and

the numbers on the doors were too small to be

read from a car passing through a parking area, which

made it difficult to find any particular apartment a stranger

such as Reagan might be looking for. Still, Reagan managed

to find the right building for thetempt He parked on

the wrong side of it, but he found their apartment.

Colleen met Reagan at the door with warm embrace and

a friendly smile. He walked inside the two bedroom flat

to see if it still had the same furnishings as

the last time he'd been there. The red and black

chairs and sofa were there, with the Mediterranean style tables

and lamps. The pictures of the Matador and the Flamenco

dancers were still hanging in the same places. It was

as if he had been away for a few days

instead of eleven months. Colleen had not in the interim either,

had not changed in the interim either. She was still

as slender as ever, which only accentuated the pointedness of

her chin. Reagan had always thought her more resembled that

of Bob Hope's. Even her hairstyle was the same, it

was still out of place on her head, especially with

the blonde streaks and the wrong places in the dull

brown coiffeur. Her eyes were still a lighter blue than Reagan's.

Would you like to something to eat, asked Colleen. No,

but I'll take that cup of coffee and some answers. Okay,

I'll heat the coffee. Colleen went around the corner of

the kitchen and Reagan pulled up a chair at the

table in the dining area. Let's get right to it, Colleen.

I want to know everything that's going on here. Okay,

Where do you want me to start? The beginning would

be nice. Some dates, names and places would be helpful

to Okay, said Colleen, as she left the kitchen and

went to her bedroom. She returned a minute later carrying

an old shoebox stuff with papers. She placed the box

on the table in front of Reagan. Most of Dave's

career was in there, she said, as she pointed to

the box, dates, names, places. There's also some pictures. Reagan

picked out some papers to look at, but he thought

better of it before I started digging into all this.

You better tell me what you know first. Okay, I'll

tell you what Dave told me. Okay, let's have it.

Remember I told you about a friend of Dave's name

Paul Begdanovic. Well, Dave, Paul and other marine named Phil

Shram used to hang around together. They were real good

friends till Shram got killed in the Philippines in nineteen

fifty nine. I like how they changed the name from

Shrand to Shram for literary purposes. He was shot with

his own gun while he was on guard duty one night.

Dave said that the Marines said that he had committed suicide.

Dave didn't believe that because the day Sham was killed,

he'd receive promotion in a letter from his girlfriend saying

that she'd marry him when he got out of the Marines.

What's this got to do with Lee Harvey Oswald. The

man who was supposed to relieve Sham the night he

was killed was Lee Harvey Oswald. He's the one who

reported finding Shram's body. Okay, that's all completely false, Just

so you know, it didn't happen in real life. This

is fiction. But that's not the order of things that

happened out there. Okay. And Dave thinks that Oswald killed Sham, right,

not exactly. The man who called us the writer I

told you about, well they called back to night I

called you. He's the one who told us about the

Oswald relieving Sham. The strange thing is, there isn't any

record of Phil Shram ever having been killed in the

Philippines in nineteen fifty nine. In fact, this man told

us there isn't even any record of a Phil Shram

ever having been in the Marines, not then or ever.

Wait a minute, there's no record of the killing, and

there's no record of the Sham. How does this guy

know that Oswald was supposed to relieve him? On watch

that night? He said, Paul Begdanovich told him. He said,

you see, Dave had been left behind in Japan when

they went to the Philippines for maneuvers. He didn't get

to the Philippines till the day after Sham was killed.

He didn't know anything about Oswald. But Paul Begdanovich had

been there all along and he knew everything that was

going on. Maybe I should talk to this Paul guy.

He seems to have more answers than Dave does. Yeah,

you should talk to him, but let me finish telling

you what Dave knows first. Okay, go on. Well, a

few days before they were supposed to leave the Philippines

and go back to Japan, someone broke into Dave's locker

and stole his pictures. The thief didn't take anything else,

just the pictures. What's stranger about it? As Shram was

in most of those pictures, the thief should have taken

Dave's camera too, because he had a whole roll of

exposed film in it. Colleen dug into the shoe box

in front of Reagan. She removed a dozen old photographs

from an envelope she placed in front of Reagan, who

picked them up and looked at them. Those are the

pictures that were in the camera. Which one is? Shram

asked Reagan as he held up a photo of two

marines and T shirts leaning against the bunk. He's not

in that one. Reagan went to the next photo, which

was a picture of a marine relaxing in a bunk.

He started to go to the next one, but Colleen

stopped him. That's Shram, she said, this one, asked Reagan

as he held out the picture of the marine in

the bunk. Yes, that's him. Reagan studied the photograph more closely.

He thought he recognized the face, but he was not

certain that it was Lee Harvey Oswald in the photo.

Smiling back at him, Wait a minute, the guy looks

like Lee Harvey Oswald. That's what I thought too, But

Dave insists this is a picture of Phil Shram. He

must be mistaken. This is definitely Lee Harvey Oswald. Colleen

got up and went to the closet next to the refrigerator.

She reached up to the shelf above the coat rack

and retrieved a book. She returned to the table and

opened the book to the pages that had photographs on them.

The pictures were all of Lee Harvey Oswald. Here, look

at these, said Colleen, as she placed the open book

in front of her brother. Reagan compared the photograph in

his hand to those in the book. The face of

the man in the bunk matched the face of the

man in some of the photographs in the book. See,

I told you this was a picture of Oswald, but

Tommy Dave insists that this is Phil Shram in this picture,

Phil Shram who was killed in the Philippines in nineteen

fifty nine. Something screwy here, Either Dave is mistaken or what.

I don't know, but something smells. Something smells like a

story to me. That's what I think too. Oh yeah,

what else do you think? Well, Dave and I talked

about all this, and we think Shram's death had something

to do with Oswald. Like what. Well, Dave was one

of those guys who directs airplanes. I don't remember what

you call them, an air traffic controller, that's it. Anyway,

that was his job when he was in the Marines. Well,

one day they were in Japan, Paul and Dave saw

the U two plane in the hangar. Do you remember

the U two plane incident in nineteen sixty they won

the Russian shot down. Yeah, the pilot was Gary Francis Powers. Well,

Dave's said that Sham was supposed to have seen it too.

He thinks Oswald may have seen the same plane. Oswald

was a radar operator over there. Dave thinks that he

may have known about the U two flights and that

he was the information he was given was in the Russians.

He gave the Russians when he defected. I don't see

the connection between Shram's death and Oswald and the U

two flights. How did they all tie in together? Dave

and I were wondering the same thing till that writer

called the second time. He said the Shram's death had

been covered up and that Shram had disappeared in all

the records. He said that according to the Marines, Phil

Shram never existed. Dave knew Phil Shram, and so so

did Paul Bgdanovich. And now the writer says Shram never existed. No,

you said, the writer said, the Marines say Shram never existed. Okay,

the Marines said it, But that doesn't erase the fact

that Dave and Paul knew a guy by that name.

If he wasn't Phil Shram, who was he. Maybe he

was Lee Harvey Oswald. That's what Dave thinks. Wait a minute,

If Shram and Oswald were the same person, then Oswald

was an agent, just like his mother said he was.

His mother said that he was an agent. Yeah, that's

what she told the Warreant Commission. She said he was

an agent, but she didn't know who he was working for.

That might explain why some stole someone stole Dave's pictures, right,

But I can't help get the feeling that we're overlooking

something or that something else is missing, like what I

don't know, but I'm sure is hell going to find out?

You've got copies of this picture he held to one

of the marine in the bunk. No, but we still

have the negative to it. Good, don't lose it. It

may be valuable. I'm gonna need this one why to

show people who may have known Sham alias Oswald, people

like Paul Bgdanovich. Do you know where that guy lives? Now? Sure?

We got a Christmas card from him and his wife,

Colleen went to the shoe box again. Here it is.

Reagan took the envelope from Colleen. He took a pen

and a notebook from his shirt pocket. He copied the

address off the envelope. Looks like my next stop is

in Phoenix, Chapter four, Phoenix, February thirteenth and fourteenth, nineteen

seventy seven. The temperature was in the seventies when Reagan

saw the house on wagon wheel drive for the first

time that Sunday afternoon. The wooden shingles on the roof

were matched by the rustic wooden shutters around the windows

of the wooden house. Citrus trees provided shade on the

front lawn, which was sunken for irrigation. Reagan parked his

car along the rounded curb in front of the Bgdanovitch residence.

He walked up to the driveway to a walk that

led to the front door. He rang the doorbell, and

a woman with platinum blonde hair and a tanned face

answered the door. Yes, she said softly, missus Bagdanovich. Yes,

my name is Tom Reagan. I'm Deve O'Toole's brother in law,

Dave o'tool Yeah, your husband and Dave were in the

Marines together. I'm sorry, but I don't know any of it.

And Dave O'Toole, that's strange. You sent Dave and Colleen

a card for Christmas just two months ago. What do

you want, mister uh Reagan, Tom Reagan, what do you want,

mister Reagan? The lady frowned at Reagan. He lowered his

eyes to the pavement beneath his feet. He wondered why

she was standing him off. He wondered why she was

not telling him the truth. He raised his eyes to

meet hers again as he decided to charge a head. Look,

missus Bgdanovich, I'm a writer and not another one, she

blurted out. I'm sorry, I have nothing to say. She

started to close the door in Reagan's face, but he

pushed it open again and stepped inside the foyer. He

closed the door after him. What do you think you're doing,

she demanded. I'm trying to get some answers. I told

you I have nothing to say. Now get out of

my house. She started to open the door again, but

Reagan leaned back against it. Look, missus Bagdanovitch, I want

some straight answers, and after I get them, I'll leave.

I'm gonna call the police. No, you're not, said Reagan.

He felt she was bluffing. She turned and walked into

the living room. Reagan followed her. Look, lady, I can

see that you're afraid of something, but it shouldn't be me.

I'm on your side. Deve o'tool is my brother in law,

and he told me all about people told me all

about your husband and him when they were in the

Marines together. Now, all I want to do is talk

about your husband. Talk to your husband about some things

that happened while they were in the Philippines. You can't

do that, she said, is she stopped, and as she

stopped reaching for the phone, why can't I Because my

husband is dead, she shrieked as she fell on the

sofa crying. Reagan was dumbfounded. He did not know what

to do next. There he was standing in the living

room of a house that belonged to the lady. They

had only just met moments before, and she was lying

on the sofa crying in front of him. Hey, get

a hold of yourself, will you, he pleaded. I did

not know he was dead. Well you do now, so

get out. The anguish in her voice matched the redness

that surrounded her blue eyes. Her cheeks were smudged with

mes gera and had been washed there by her tears.

She buried her face in the cushions. Again. I can

only guess that your husband's death had something to do

with what I came here to talk about. Is that it,

missus Begdanovitch, Because if it is, then you should know

that I've come to help. Now. Uh, Now, won't tell

you now, won't you tell me about your husband's death?

I told you I have nothing to say. Reagan was

angered by her obstinate behavior. He bent over and grabbed

her by the arms to straighten her Upright, don't touch me,

she screamed. Reagan shook her violently. Listen to me, lady,

he growled. If your husband's death was connected to the

incidents in the Philippines, then that means that my sister

and her husband are in danger. So am I for

that matter. If you want them on your conscience, then

don't talk to me. But if you want to avenge your husband,

then you'd better answer my questions. And you'd better answer

he I'm pretty damn quick. Reagan's face was only inches

from her. The terror that he had stricken with her

was working. She stopped crying as her mind tried to

cope with what he was telling her. They stared at

each other. Anger flamed in his and fear shadowed hers.

All right, she whimpered, all you what do you want

to know? Everything he said is. He released her from

his grasp. She reached for a tissue box from the

end of the table. She wiped her nose and eyes

and as she composed herself. There isn't much to tell,

she said softly. I'll be the judge of that. He snapped. Hey,

I'm sorry, he said, as he realized that he might

have been frightening her even more. She smiled at him,

as if to forgive him with the use without the

use of words. Look, why don't we start over, said Reagan.

Azi pulled another tissue from the box as he handled

it as he handed it to her. You pull yourself

together and we'll talk about this whole thing. Okay. She

shook her head in approval as she wiped her tear

stained cheeks. You miss some, said Reagan. Ezzi took a

third tissue and wiped away the last of the mascara. Thanks,

she smiled again. I'm sorry for behaving like such a fool.

There's no need to apologize. I can't blame you. Well,

what do you want to know? First? Well, I didn't

know about your husband's death. Why don't you tell me

about that at first? I'll start back when Paul got

that phone call from the first writer. I suppose it

all started with him. It was one night in December

Paul and I were home by ourselves, and we were

as we usually were in the evening. The phone rang

and I answered. A man asked if he could speak

to Paul. I asked who was calling, and he said

his name was mister Bertram. Paul came to the phone

and I went back to watching TV. When Paul was

through talking, about a half hour later, he came back

in the living room and sat down next to me.

I asked him who that mister Bertram was and he

said he was a writer. Before I could ask Paul

anything else, he got up and went out on the patio.

He seemed to be upset about the call. I followed

him outside and he told me about the call. He

said that mister Bertram claimed to be a writer who

was doing a book on the life of Lee Harvey Oswald.

He asked if Paul if he could remember Oswald from

his Marine Corps days, and said that he had never

for that. He'd never forget the man that killed one

of his best friends. Who was that another marine named

Phil Shram. Paul and your brother in law and Phil

Sham were really close in those day. Paul talked a

lot about the three of them, but he never told

me that Lee Harvey Oswald had killed Shram until the

night that writer called well This. Mister Bertram asked Paul

if he could remember anything about Oswald, and Paul said

that he All he knew about Oswald from those days

was that Oswald was the guy who was supposed to

relieve Shram from guard duty the night he was killed.

Other than that, Paul said that he had never met Oswald.

In fact, Paul had never seen Oswald until after the

president after he killed President Kennedy and Paul saw him

on TV. Paul said he was shocked because Oswald looked

so much like his friend Shram. Well This, mister Bertram

seemed satisfied with that information, but he would be willing

to call Paul again. He never called back. Two weeks later,

Paul was killed in a car accident on the Black

Canyon Highway. But in between those times, Paul told me

he was worried that mister Bertram worried about that mister

Bertram was calling him back. Paul had been thinking everything

over and he'd come to some strange conclusions, such as

well the one he gave the most credibility to was

that he felt that Oswald and Shram were one and

the same man. He said that he looked enough like

to be twins. What else did Paul say about it?

He thought that if they were the same person, then

Shram didn't die the night in the Philippines. He just

became Lee Harvey Oswald. Or was he Lee Harvey Oswald

in the first place and only masquerading a Shram? Paul

said the very same thing, But why would Oswald be Shram?

Did Paul ever mention U two flights or ever having

seen a utube plane while he was in the Marines,

Now that you mention it, he did say that he

and Dave wandered into the restricted area one day back

in nineteen fifty eight they both saw a YouTube plane

in the hangar, So Ally ever said about it? What

about your husband's accident? Do you think it was an accident?

Police said it was, but I think it was murder.

What makes you think that the Black Canyon Highway where

Paul was killed, this four lane interstate highway. Paul's car

had obviously been sideswiped and forced to crash into the

mountain side. The police even admitted that there was a possibility,

but they said it was highly unlikely. Then you think

Paul was killed because something he knew about Oswald and

Shram when they were in the service. Yes, I do.

I've been reading about some of the dissenting opinions of

the Warren Commission finding and I think Paul was one

of the people who might have known one little fact

that would cause Congress to keep on investigating President Kennedy's death.

What makes you so sure that? Two weeks ago, another

man identifying himself as a writer, mister Hewitt, called me

and told me a second writer told you that. Yes.

He said he was doing a book on Oswald's life

and he wanted to talk to Paul about it. After

I told him that Paul was dead, he expressed his regrets,

and then he said to me, that's too bad, missus Begdanovich,

but your late husband might have been the last connection

between Shram and Oswald. His testimony might have might make

Congress sit up and take notice. Those were his exact

words to me. Then he said goodbye and hung up.

Have you told anyone else about this? No, just you. Look,

I think your life may be in danger, and now

I know mine is. But I'm not worried about me.

It's Dave and Colleen, I'm worried about you too. Fortunately

they had the foresight to keep their mouth shut about this,

and you evidently know enough not to go blabbing it

all over town. I'd still like to find the people

responsible for Paul's death, so would I, but I would

want to explore this Oswald Tram connection a little further.

Reagan reached into his shirt pocket and removed the photograph

that he had taken from Colleen. Had you ever seen

this person? He asked when he presented the picture to

missus Begdanovich. That's Lee Harvey Oswald, isn't it. That's what

I thought too, But Dave says, this is Phil Shram.

Rita Bogdanovich wrinkled her brow in astonishment. Reagan shook his

head and chuckled lightly. The resemblance is remarkable, said Rita.

I know. That's why I want to follow this thing through.

Where are you guys going from here? I suppose I

should try to find out something about those writers who

called here. One of them called Dave and Colleen and

Tulsa either one of them? Did they either one of

them say where they were from? No, they only gave

their names. It isn't much to go on, but I'll

give it a shot. I'd like to help. You've been

plenty of help already, said Reagan as he rose to leave,

But I want to do more. Well. If I need

anything for you, I'll give you a call. Okay, okay.

Reagan let himself out and returned to his motel to

deliberate on the information that he'd already learned. Something was

still wrong with both his sisters and Rita Begdanovich's stories.

They just did not add up. A writer by the

name of Bertram calls Paul Bgdanovich in December pumps him

for information he knows about Shram and Oswald. Two weeks later,

Begdanovich is dead in an automobile accident. That's Rita, says

his murder. Rita receives a second call from a writer

by the name of Hewitt. He doesn't know Paul is dead,

and he tells Rita that Paul may have been the

last link between Shram and Oswald. Colleen and Dave get

a call from a writer whose name is is What

was that writer's name? Reagan picked up his telephone a

place to call to Colleen in Tulsa. Hello, Colleen, this

is tom Hi, Tommy, what did Paul Begdanovich tell you?

He didn't tell me thing. He's dead. He's dead, Yes,

he's dead. But never mind that. Now. I can't afford

to make this a long conversation. Just answer a few

questions for me. What was the name of that writer

called Dave Hughes or Huler something like that? Was it hewittt?

That sounds like it? Why? Never mind? Did he say

where he was from? I think he did. I think

he was from Salt Lake City. Why what's this all about? Colleen?

Will you ask me? Let me ask some questions. Sorry,

that's better now. Didn't you tell me that he had

told you that he had spoken with Paul Bagdanovich. Yes,

he said that Paul had told him that part about

Oswald relieving Sham on guard duty that night Sham was killed.

Why all these questions? I told you never mind. I'll

tell you about it some other time when I can

afford to talk longer. Thanks for the information. I'll call

you when I get the Salt Lake, providing I get

the dough to get the salt Lake, said Reagan to himself.

Reagan decided to take the bull by the horns he

was in need of money to complete the research he

had begun. Since he was a with some ability, he

decided the best place to obtain that money would be

at a newspaper. He would try to get in advance

on the story that he was certain he would eventually

write about Oswald. He was certain that a story existed.

Why else would two other writers, if they were writers,

begin to glean information about an incident that had happened

eighteen years before. The Morning Sun was the leading newspaper

in the Southwest. It was located right here in Phoenix.

Reagan decided to start at the top and work down.

That was why he was in the office of Milton Harris,

the managing editor of The Sun, promptly at eight o'clock

that morning. That Monday morning. Reagan did not wait for

the secretary to let him in the editor's office. He

simply walked in and made himself comfortable, which was not

easy considering the condition of the office. It was something

out of an old Bogart movie. Venetian blind still covering

the windows. The carpeting on the floor he had seen

its best days. The paint was peeling off the ceiling

and cracks were quite visible in the plaster walls. The

furniture would have looked better in the showroom of an

antique shop. Old wooden desk dominated the room. Behind it

was an equal the old wooden swivel chair. Two metal

but padded armchairs faced the front desk. From the looks

of it, Reagan was beginning to think it was Clark

Canon Perry White would come walking in at any second.

Reagan was sitting at the edge of a desk when

in the middle, aged Harris walked in. Harris glanced at him,

then looked at the name on the door. The balding

and gray tempered editor raised his eyebrows, bent his head

to one side, and then closed the door behind him.

He carried his coat over his arm and a briefcase

in the hand of the same arm. He took the

last two steps up to Reagan, staring at the young

rider directly in his eye. Pardon me, said Harris, you

must be the new boss around here. Reagan did not budge.

I used to be, Harris said, but I never let

anyone plant his ass on my desk like that. Reagan

could see what he was getting at, but he remained seated. Well,

since you're sitting there. It must be your desk now

right well, no, stammered Reagan, then it must still be mine.

In that case, you better get your ask off it,

and pretty damn quick. Reagan hopped to his feet at

the intonation of his command. His toes danced nervously inside

his shoes as he watched the editor walk around from

behind his desk. Are you still there, asked Harris as

he set his briefcase down on the desk. Yes, sir,

replied Reagan meekly. Why, asked Harris, Simply, well, I'm here

to see you, mister, Harris, said the quivering writer. Harris

hooked his coat on the hat tree behind the desk.

Who are you and what are you doing in my office?

My name is Tom Reagan, and I'm here to make

you an offer. Sorry, I'm not in the market right now,

so get out of here. I have work to do.

Not till you hear me out. Harris squatted gently into

his chair, pulled himself up to his desk, and then

reached for the telephone. Reagan's hand shot out from his

body as if he was going to permit Harris from

using the device to summon some assistant. Harris gave the

hand an icy stare, and it retreated to its previous position.

Give me a chance, will you. Harris ignored the anguish

in the young man's voice as he dialed the four

numbers that would get him connected with the security office. Hello, Security,

smelt Harris. I got a pest in my office. I

want Tom removed immediately. Reagan was not going to give

up yet. That should give me a minute or two

to tell you what I got. I hope it's not contagious,

said Harris as he replaced the receiver. It might be,

retorted Reagan. You won't know until you hear me out.

There was an urgency in the bearded intruder's tone that

touched Harris. All right, you got sixty seconds, he said,

as he checked his watch. Go I have reason to

believe that Lee Harvey Oswald was an agent for our government.

Not that crap. Again, it's already been done a few

million times. Reagan reached into his pocket and removed the

same photograph that he had shown to read a Bogdanovich.

He handed it to Harris. You recognize the man in

that picture, sure, said Harris. After careful consideration. It's Lee

Harvey Oswald wrong, said and elated Reagan. It's Phil Shram,

a fellow marine that Oswald may have murdered in nineteen

fifty nine at QB Point the Philippines. The editor's head

bobbed up to see the smile on Reagan's face, and

then returned his attention to the photograph. What are you

talking about, asked Harris. It's a long story, said Reagan,

but he realized that he had Harris Harris hooked. It

was a knock on the door, Come in, said Harris.

It was a security guard. Is this the pest, mister Harris,

the blue uniformed officer asked as he eyed Reagan. I'm

not so sure, Hank. You'd better wait outside for a minute.

I'll call you if I need you. The guard nodded

and stepped back through the doorway, closing the door behind him.

So let's hear your story, said Harris as he leaned

back in his chair. Reagan went on to relate everything

he knew up to that point in his investigation. He

took nearly ten minutes to finish. The tale is that, it,

asked Harris. That's it so far. I know there could

be more. If I only had the money to carry

out an investigation. Now I get it neared. Harris. You

really had me going for a moment, but it won't work.

You aren't going to con me out of a dime.

I'm not trying to con anyone out of anything. Snap Reagan,

right back at Harris. I got a story here, a

fantastic story. There might be a lot more here than

meets the eye, but I need the backing to find out. Well,

you'll have to look elsewhere. Look, mister Harris, I quit

my job to pursue this. I believe there's something in

all that might lead me to the solving of President

Kenny the assassination. Well what makes you think that. I've

done a lot of studying on the assassination and on Oswald.

Do you remember anything about the Warren Commission testimony of

Oswald's mother? No, why Oswald's mother kept insisting that Oswald

was an agent of some kind, but she didn't know

for who. Now, just supposing that Shram and Oswald were

the same person, then it would mean that Oswald was

an agent in disguise as Shram. That would explain why

Marines have no record of Shram. Why would Marines have

a spy in their own ranks. Who knows. Maybe he

wasn't working for the Marines. Maybe he was working for

the CIA. My brother in law and Paul Magdanovitch were

air traffic controllers there, and when they were in the Marines,

they were at one of the bases in Japan where

the Utuboe flights originated, and the CIA was in charge

of those operations. The CIA could have had Oswald watching

them to make certain they weren't selling any secrets to

the Russians about the Utube planes or the flights. Okay,

Oswald was an agent, so what so maybe I can

prove it, and and if I can prove it, and

I can prove to some of those claims that he

was an agent, that he was working for the CIA

or the FBI and then he was framed or all

true and not a lot of speculative hogwash, you might

be right. You've certainly raised some very interesting points. I'd

like to see this thing to the end myself. Do

you think you can do it? I know I can

if I have the financial backing to pursue the lead

to the end. Harris studied his visitor intently. He was

searching his soul as well as Reagan's. He frowned first,

then shook his head to clear it. I don't usually

play hunches, said Harris, but this one's too strong to

pass up. Harris reached inside his coat to remove his

wallet from the bullfold. He took out five twenty dollars

bills and three credit cards. He placed the bills and

credit cards in front of Reagan. There's no way, said Harris,

that I could get a project like this okay by

my superiors, So I guess I'll have to back you myself.

All I want is for you to keep me posted

on whatever you're doing and wherever you are. As you

get information, I want it sent here to me immediately.

If you ever make me think that you're trying to

screw me, I'll have you in jail in twenty four hours.

I make myself perfectly clear. There's no way, said Harris,

that I could get read that part. Yes, sir, replied Reagan,

even though his eyes were still fixed and to the

money and the credit cards. But how are you gonna

get your money back? If you have a story here,

the paper will pay me for whatever it cost. If

you haven't got a story, then you're gonna have to

figure out a way to pay me back. Is that

understood perfectly, said Reagan as he picked up the money

and the credit cards. I'll call you from Salt Lake.

Not so fast, said Harris. Hank come in here, Yes, mister,

Harris said. The security guard is the end of the office.

Take this young man down to personnel and make sure

that he fills out an application to work here. Check

his driver's license to make sure he puts the right

name on the application. As soon as he's done, let

him go and bring his application back up here to me. Yes, sir,

hold it, I don't live here. What do I put

out for an address? Harris scribbled his address on a

piece of paper and handed it to Reagan. That's mine,

he said. It'll do till you get back. Besides, that

way your paycheck will be sent to me. A little

insurance never hurt anyone. The name is Reagan, Thomas marsh

Thomas Marshall Reagan. But I'd like my byline to read

by Reagan. That'll be sufficient from now on. Harris frowned

as he pointed at the door. Reagan and the guard

got the idea without further elaboration. All right, and that

is the end of chapter four, Ladies and Gentlemen. That

brings us chapter five Salt Lake City. So I don't know, man,

I kind of like this, but it's this will take

me let me see one, two, three, This will take

me like a seven to eight episodes to knock out

the whole thing. I don't think I want to do that.

But it's a fascinating look into the world of like

JFK assassination fiction. Right, So this once again was called

twice Dead by Larry D Names and there's a bunch

of more stuff out there like this. This is one

I thought fascinating because they had the two Oswalds in it,

and no, I'm a two Oswald guy. And so but

that's gonna do it for me today, guys. I will

be back on probably Monday with a new episode and

till then, like