167: OSWALD – FROM SHOT TO FINISH

It was the day I had been waiting for since we left on the trip; and it was also the day my photographer decided to sleep in. However, when his alarm finally rang at 7:45am on Tuesday October 19, 2021, Tom had himself ready for our journey into downtown Dallas a short time later. But when the two of us went downstairs to the dining area where the rest of the family had indulged in breakfast, my camera guy learned that Bill Johnson had opted out of going. Although Bill said he needed to catch up on some work, I knew better. Bill was likely still recovering from the 2016 adventure when Tom coerced him into sneaking though a fence and into the yard where Lee Harvey Oswald once lived on West Neely Street in Oak Cliff. Or perhaps it was when Johnson was prompted to lay in Oswald’s bed at his boarding house, which he refused to do.

With Bill out of the picture, that left Anthony Fiscelli, Tom’s son-in-law, as my photographer’s sole companion for our excursion into Dallas and Oak Cliff. I was itching to hit the road, and I knew my cameraman had planned on leaving the house by 9:30am. However, the two of us forgot that Anthony’s time management skills while on vacation wasn’t like ours. I laughed as I watched Tom pace around the house; he checked the time on his phone every few minutes. Even though my photographer knew Dealey Plaza was just over 20 miles south of Plano, Tom had his one o’clock pre-arranged meeting with Griffin Schmucker at the Texas Theater on his mind. Since Tom figured it might be his first and only time he’d get the chance to tour the interior of the historic theater, the last thing he wanted to do was be late.

At precisely 10:25am, Anthony was finally ready to make his first trip into downtown Dallas. I nearly fell out of the camera case in laughter when Fiscelli said: “Well, are you ready to go?” I thought I heard Tom mumble under his breath: “Yeah, about an hour ago!” But I was proud of my usual travel mate for keeping his composure. After all, the two of us felt we needed some added “protection” during our three stops in the potentially sketchy areas of Oak Cliff and West Dallas.

With Anthony behind the wheel and my photographer barking out directions, we headed for the first site of the day – Crown Hill Memorial Park, which was located almost in the shadow of Dallas Love Field. Tom figured we would kick-off the morning with a visit to the grave of the historically famous outlaw Bonnie Parker. But after we made the half-hour drive from Plano to the cemetery, we quickly discovered our day had started out on the wrong foot – there was a large funeral service in progress directly in the center of the burial ground. Not wanting to disrupt the service to search for Bonnie’s grave, Tom decided we would return to Crown Hill on our way back to Plano.

Next on my photographer’s list was a historic site located along Main Street in downtown Dallas. Anthony navigated the traffic and the construction like a pro until he parked our Jeep across the street from the Dallas Municipal Building. In 1963, that building housed the Dallas Police Station and two days after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, the alleged assassin Lee Harvey Oswald was shot in that building’s basement. On past trips, I had visited most of the Oswald sites in the Dallas area, but I had never been where the JFK assassin met his demise at the pistol-toting right hand of Jack Ruby. But once again, our plan hit a roadblock. The Main Street entrance, which was used by Ruby on that fateful day, was closed to pedestrian traffic. After Tom snapped a few images of me standing near the ramp’s entrance, the three of us headed around the corner and into the building. At the security desk inside, my photographer recited his well-rehearsed spiel in an attempt to gain access to the basement’s historic spot, but he was denied. Tom was told that due to COVID restrictions, visitors were not allowed into most areas of the building, including the basement.

I was extremely disappointed when we were denied the opportunity to see the spot where Lee Harvey Oswald was gunned down. Although it was very maddening to Tom as well, he had been in the basement and saw the historic location during a 1995 JFK assassination tour he had taken. In my mind, that basement should not be off-limits to people who want to see it; even though the area where Oswald was shot had been renovated and changed over the past 58 years. There’s not many Americans alive today who have not seen the famous image taken by Dallas Times Herald photographer Robert H. Jackson at the moment Ruby fired his .38 Colt Cobra revolver into the gut of Oswald. As Americans, we should be given the opportunity to visit historic sites such as that one; especially if they’re in a public building.

Once the three of us had returned to the Jeep, Anthony headed west along Main Street – he was driving in the tire prints of President Kennedy’s limousine. He turned right on Houston Street; but instead of making a sharp left onto Elm Street, Tom’s son-in-law took a medium left onto a narrow brick roadway that went directly in front of the former Texas School Book Depository building. For the third time in my illustrious career as a travelling Presidential-enthusiast bobble head, I was in Dealey Plaza. After Tom captured a few photos of me directly below the famous book warehouse, the three of us walked onto the Grassy Knoll where I posed for a few more pictures. When my photographer placed me onto the pergola’s four-foot-tall concrete abutment that overlooked the Grassy Knoll along Elm Street, I stood in the footsteps of Abraham Zapruder. It was Zapruder who used his 8mm Bell and Howell movie camera to film John F. Kennedy’s motorcade as it passed through Dealey Plaza. When the President’s dark blue Lincoln Continental was directly in front of Zapruder’s position on the pergola, the third and fatal shot was fired. With his movie camera, which he purchased a year earlier, Abraham Zapruder captured the most famous film footage in American history.

No trip to Dealey Plaza would be complete without posing for pictures while standing on the white ‘X’ in the middle of Elm Street. I had hoped Tom wouldn’t place me onto that spot again because the last time I stood there a car nearly ran me over. However, since it was Anthony’s first time in Dealey Plaza, Tom talked his son-in-law into posing on the historic assassination site. After the three of us walked across the street so the Texas School Book Depository would serve as a backdrop, we waited for a minute or two for traffic to clear. When it did, Anthony hustled out onto the “X” where he smiled for a handful of photos. But out of nowhere, a stream of fast-moving vehicles headed towards the unsuspecting tourist. My photographer had no time to warn him, and Anthony had no place to run; he was stuck in the middle of the road with only a prayer to keep him alive. While several cars swerved to miss the novice tourist, none of them slowed down. As a matter of fact, it seemed as though some of the drivers sped up. Luckily, his years of playing “Frogger” paid off; Anthony made it off the street with this life and limbs still intact. When I knew he had safely, yet narrowly, escaped his death-defying stunt, I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. It really became hilarious when a Columbian couple, who immigrated to Columbus, Ohio years ago, scolded Fiscelli for nearly causing a huge traffic accident. Anthony responded by bad-mouthing the Ohio State Buckeyes as he let the former Columbians know their college team was headed for trouble at the Big House in November. Please take a look at the images my photographer captured during our time at Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas.

I never get tired of visiting Dealey Plaza and the Kennedy assassination site. Although it may sound morbid, it’s my favorite Presidential site to visit because everything there looks nearly the same as it did on November 22, 1963. The death of our 35th President on that Dallas street was one of the most tragic moments in American history. But for some reason, when I’m carried onto the Grassy Knoll; or placed onto the “X” on Elm Street; or get to look out of the sixth-floor window of that historic red brick building; that handsome 46-year-old President comes to life before my eyes. Each time I’m in Dealey Plaza, it’s as though I can see JFK smiling and waving at me from the backseat of his Lincoln Continental. John F. Kennedy’s legacy will live on forever; and in my mind, so will he.

I would’ve enjoyed going back inside the Texas School Book Depository again to spend some time in the Sixth Floor Museum, but it was closed for the entire day. It appeared construction workers were in the process of making repairs to a section of the west-side exterior. But we wouldn’t have had time anyway – mainly due to our late start to the day. As a matter of fact, we barely had time to finish our walking tour of Dealey Plaza. We weren’t rushed during our 45-minute visit, but we surely wouldn’t have had time to tour the museum had it been open. When the three of us returned to the Jeep, which was parked behind the former schoolbook building, we had only twenty minutes to make our way to the Texas Theater in Oak Cliff.

Traffic in the area had subsided a bit and our three-mile drive to Oak Cliff took less than five minutes. Because of the extra time we had before Tom’s scheduled one o’clock rendezvous with the theater’s manager, my photographer directed Anthony to the intersection of Tenth Street and Patton Avenue in Oak Cliff. On the afternoon of November 22, 1963, roughly 45 minutes after President Kennedy was shot in Dealey Plaza, Dallas police officer J.D. Tippit pulled his squad car alongside a young man who fit the suspect’s description from the assassination. After a brief verbal exchange with the suspect through an open vent window, Tippit got out of his car and walked to the front of the vehicle. At that moment, Oswald drew his handgun and fired five shots in rapid succession – four of those shots hit home. Less than fifteen minutes later, Officer J.D. Tippit was pronounced dead after being transported to nearby Methodist Hospital.

There was a white “X” painted on Tenth Street, roughly one hundred feet from where Patton Avenue intersected. That “X” was a visual reminder of an assassination; and like the one in downtown Dallas, it allegedly came from the same hand – the hand of Lee Harvey Oswald. Officer Tippit was 39 years old and had been a Dallas patrolman for eleven years before his fateful encounter with Oswald. As I stood on the white “X”, I not only thought about the event that played out on that historic day in 1963, but I also thought about Marie Tippit and their three children as well. Charles was 13, Brenda was 10, and Curtis was only five years old when they lost their brave father.

After we had finished our photo-shoot at the Tippit murder scene, the three of us had a little over five minutes to get to the Texas Theater, which was only five blocks away. In 1963, it took Oswald over 15 minutes to walk that distance, but the fugitive was forced to cut through alleys and stay concealed from the authorities. We got lucky upon our 12:58pm arrival; Anthony found a parking place along Jefferson Boulevard that was only a few doors down from the historic theater. When Tom carried me up to the twin doors just to the right of the ticket booth, it was exactly one o’clock. After several knocks on the locked doors went unanswered, my photographer and I began to worry. My resin mind was filled with all kinds of scenarios; I knew there must’ve been a miscommunication between Tom and theater manager Griffin Schmucker. As a last resort, my camera guy sent an email to Griffin from his phone stating that we were standing in the box office area. It worked – Griffin opened the doors and the three of us stepped back in time.

When the Texas Theater first opened its doors on April 21, 1931, it became the first theater in Dallas with air conditioning. Although the theater stayed opened continuously for the next 58 years, one Friday afternoon in late November 1963 made the Texas Theater a household name. Two miles away, in downtown Dallas, utter chaos ensued after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. A little less than an hour after bullets flew in Dealey Plaza, roughly 15 Dallas police squad cars screeched to a halt in front of the theater. A young male had slipped past the ticket taker without paying. The place was swarmed, the interior lights were illuminated, and the perpetrator was identified in the third row from the back. It was Lee Harvey Oswald. As Officer Nick McDonald approached Oswald’s seat, the fugitive said “Well, it is all over now.” Oswald pulled out a pistol that was tucked in the front of his pants and aimed it at McDonald – ‘click’. The gun didn’t fire. As the officer reached for Oswald’s gun, the hammer came down on the webbing between McDonald’s thumb and index finger. A brief scuffle ensued in which Oswald received a gash above his right eye. He was disarmed and led out of the theater to an awaiting squad car. In my mind, I’m thinking Lee should’ve just paid the 90 cents and perhaps he would’ve seen the end of the movie.

Griffin Schmucker took the three of us on a 45-minute extensive tour of the Texas Theater, which nearly met its fate by the wrecking ball a year or two after Olive Stone used the place for a scene in his movie ‘JFK’. After a fire nearly destroyed the historic theater, the building sat vacant for a few years until it was eventually purchased, renovated, and re-opened as a theater and concert venue. We covered every aspect of the theater from the top to the bottom and behind the stage. I saw one of the original projectors, some of the original air conditioning units; and best of all, I got to sit close to where Lee Harvey Oswald was sitting when he was apprehended; which was in the third row from the back and the fifth seat from the aisle. Please take a moment and check out Tom’s images from our tour of the Texas Theater.

After our visits to the Dallas police station where Oswald was killed; and Dealey Plaza where President Kennedy was killed; and to the site where Officer J.D. Tippit was killed; and the Texas Theater where Oswald was apprehended; I had my fill of violence for one day. I longed for a good, wholesome, family-friendly historical site to see. That meant only one thing – a trip to a cemetery.

When we arrived at Western Heights Cemetery, which was located about three miles north of the Texas Theater in the West Dallas section of the Big D, it dawned on me whose grave I was about to stand on. Talk about jumping from the frying pan and into the fire – which was what I did when the three of us walked through the opened gate and into the small burial ground. With me in hand, Tom and Anthony followed a small footpath to the far southwestern corner of the cemetery. It was there, inside the wooden outlined family plot, when I got my first glimpse at the final resting place of Clyde Barrow. Yeah, that Clyde – of Bonnie and Clyde fame.

Clyde Chestnut Barrow was 17 years old when he was first arrested for failing to return a rental car on time. His life of crime spiraled out of control after that. It was when he was sent to Eastham Prison Farm at the age of 21, however, that changed the youngster from a “schoolboy to a rattlesnake”, according to a fellow inmate. While he was serving time in Eastham, Barrow was repeatedly molested by another inmate. Clyde retaliated by killing his tormentor with a pipe; that was the first person he killed. During the next four years, Clyde joined forces with his brother Marvin “Buck” Barrow and his newfound love, Bonnie Parker. The Barrow Gang were responsible for the deaths of 13 people, including nine police officers. Although Clyde gained national notoriety as a bank robber, his life’s goal wasn’t to gain fame and fortune from robbing banks. It’s believed he was hell-bent on seeking revenge against the Texas prison system for the abuses he suffered while serving time.

Clyde Barrow was killed on May 23, 1934 at the age of 25 when the Ford Deluxe V-8 he was driving with his passenger Bonnie Parker was ambushed by a federal posse outside of Gibsland, Louisiana. Barrow was shot 17 times, while Parker’s body was riddled with 26 bullet holes. After separate funerals, Clyde was buried alongside his brother “Buck” in the Barrow family plot at Western Heights Cemetery in West Dallas. When my photographer carefully placed me on to the headstone, which bore the names of both Barrow brothers, I could easily see the epitaph that was etched into the flat granite marker: “Gone but not forgotten”.

Although Western Heights Cemetery in West Dallas could use a little TLC, there was no time during our visit that my photographer, Anthony, or myself felt we were in any danger. On the other hand, I’m not sure I would want Tom to carry me through that area after dark. Then again, that could be said about thousands of cities in our country – and that’s a shame.

Our visit to the gravesite of Clyde Barrow lasted only about ten minutes. While I enjoyed the novelty of standing on Clyde’s final resting place, it wasn’t an honor for me to be there. He was a criminal; an outlaw; a murderer; and a bank robber. However, the glamorized aura of Bonnie and Clyde had taken on a life of its own over the years through film and music – and now blog. As we got back to the Jeep, a little jingle popped into my resin head; it went something like this: “When I left the Texas Theater, where Oswald tried to hide. I walked in the footsteps of evil, that continued with Bonnie and Clyde”. It’s almost difficult to mention the name Clyde Barrow without saying Bonnie Parker, which made our day’s final destination in Dallas all the more important. We were headed back to Crown Hill Memorial Park to find the gravesite of the infamous outlaw Bonnie Parker.

The hands of the clock were approaching three o’clock in the afternoon as we made the 12-mile journey to North Dallas. For me, part of our drive was historically cool when Anthony took the Stemmons Freeway, past the Texas School Book Depository, and northward towards the Trade Mart. That was the same route taken by William Greer when he drove JFK’s limo to Parkland Hospital after the assassination. But instead of exiting at Market Center Boulevard like Greer had done in 1963, Anthony continued northward for another half-dozen miles until we arrived at Crown Hill Memorial Park. Luckily for the three of us, the funeral service that we saw during our first trip into the cemetery had concluded.

While there were no directional signs pointing to the gravesite of Crown Hill’s most famous resident, Tom knew Parker’s grave was located near a line of shrubs about two hundred feet southwest of the Crown Hill Mausoleum. After my photographer’s son-in-law parked the Jeep close to the shrubbery, it didn’t take long before I was once again standing on the headstone of an outlaw.

Bonnie Elizabeth Parker was a talented woman who loved to write and take photographs. She married her high school sweetheart at the age of 16, but their relationship was hampered because of her husband’s criminal activity. Although they remained married, Bonnie never saw her husband after January 1929. Parker met Clyde Barrow one year later at the home of Clarence Clay, a good friend of Clyde’s. Barrow was 20, Parker was 19, and it was truly love at first sight. During the next four years, Bonnie and Clyde became household names with a crime spree never before seen in American history. Parker’s fascination with photography led her to capture some historical photos of the infamous couple during their heyday. And one of her poems, called “The Trail’s End”, became very prophetic when she wrote (in part): “They don’t think they’re too smart or desperate; they know that the law always wins. They’ve been shot at before; but they do not ignore, that death is the wages of sin”.

Bonnie Parker was killed instantly alongside Clyde Barrow when the fugitives were ambushed by a federal posse on a rural road outside of Gibsland, Louisiana. Parker was only 23 years old at the time of her death on May 23, 1934. During her funeral, which was attended by over 20,000 curiosity-seekers, floral tributes came from all across the country. The largest of those tributes came from a group of Dallas newspaper boys who sold 500,000 newspapers after the demise of Bonnie and Clyde. During her run from the law, Bonnie made it no secret that when her end came, she wanted to be buried alongside Barrow; however, the Parker family didn’t allow that to happen. Instead, she was interred in Fishtrap Cemetery in West Dallas, which was located about two miles from where Clyde was laid to rest in Western Heights. Due to vandalism in that cemetery, Bonnie’s body was exhumed in 1945 and moved to Crown Hill next to the grave of her mother Emma who had died the previous year.

When Tom carefully placed me onto the bronze slab that marked the grave of Bonnie Parker, the only thought I had was about how she wasted her life. Bonnie was an Honor Student in school, and she was a talented writer and photographer – a lot more so than my own photographer. But at least Tom didn’t get involved in a life of crime – unless you call trespassing on certain historic sites a crime. From my position on top of the small marker, I read the raised-lettered epitaph: “As the flowers are all made sweeter by the sunshine and the dew, so this old world is made brighter by the lives of folks like you.”

It was a time for reflection in Crown Hill Memorial Park, especially when I thought about Bonnie Parker’s last stanza in her poem ‘The Trail’s End’: “Someday they’ll go down together and they’ll bury them side by side. To few it’ll be grief, to the law a relief; but it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde”. Even though Bonnie Parker was a fugitive, and a bank robber, and she helped murder at least 13 people, I believe she deserved to have her final wish fulfilled: to be buried alongside Clyde Barrow. A couple of years ago, there was some discussions started by Bonnie’s niece and Clyde’s nephew to make that final wish become a reality. That’s right, Rhea Leen Linder (originally named Bonnie Ray Parker after her infamous aunt) and Buddy Barrow are longtime friends and the family’s history keepers, and they are intent on reuniting Bonnie and Clyde one last time. And I know for sure, because I had just been there, the Barrow family plot has plenty of room for Bonnie, and perhaps her mother as well. It would be epic, at least in my mind, if someone would step up with the cash to make it happen. I also think it would make a great reality TV mini-series called “Reuniting Bonnie and Clyde”.

The 16-mile journey back to the Johnson home in Plano gave Anthony a taste of late afternoon traffic in Dallas. The three of us had made it back from our time in Oak Cliff unscathed; but perhaps that wasn’t really a shock. After Tom had talked to Griffin Schmucker about our safety in that area, he said it had gotten a lot better in recent times. Businesses had moved in; higher income people were buying or building homes there; and it seemed as though Oak Cliff had been given an economic shot in the arm – even though a majority of Texans (some named Johnson) don’t believe in certain types of shots in any arms.

A minute or two after Anthony, my photographer, and I walked through the Johnson’s doorway, I heard Bill ask: “Well, y’all want to take a tour of the ballpark in Frisco?” I laughed to myself because I knew Tom had forgotten what Bill had said before we left home that morning: had contacted a friend of his who could take us on a tour of Riders Field in Frisco. Riders Field was the home stadium of the Frisco RoughRiders, a Double-A affiliate of the Texas Rangers, and it was only about four miles from Bill’s front door. Tom and I were all in; Anthony had spent enough time with his father-in-law and declined the invitation.

I could tell Tom was anxious to see Riders Field; and I also knew he would compare it to the other Minor League stadiums he had visited in the past. My photographer and I followed Bill into the office area of the ballpark where we were introduced to Scott Burchett, the Assistant General Manager and Chief Operating Officer for the RoughRiders. The first thing I noticed when we arrived was the team’s logo – it was a caricature of Theodore Roosevelt, one of the most famous Rough Riders of all.

During our 45-minute tour, Scott led us into the Riders’ locker room and weight room before we headed out to the holy grail – the playing field. Tom carried me into the Frisco dugout and then onto the field where I was given the opportunity to “toe the slab”. That’s right, I found myself standing on the pitcher’s rubber where I stared-down an imaginary hitter. As my photographer and I were basking in our baseball glory, I overheard him tell Scott and Bill how impressed he was with the stadium. As a matter of fact, Tom said it was the most beautiful Minor League stadium he’d ever seen. If you’re into baseball like my photographer and I are, you’ll enjoy this photo tour of Riders Field. If not, then you might want to scroll through fairly fast.

Even though Scott Burchett was the team’s “third-in-command”, he was very friendly, easy to talk with, and extremely down to earth. Scott has been with the team for the past 17 years and was awarded the Texas League’s Bill Valentine Executive of the Year in 2017. But Burchett’s generosity didn’t end with his tour. He also gave the three of us full access to the Riders Outpost, which was the Team Shop, and anything we wanted was “on the house”. Tom found a RoughRiders baseball cap he loved, especially since it had Teddy Roosevelt’s smiling face sewn onto the front. My cameraman also picked out a couple of ball caps for his grandsons, Bo and Rory; while Bill found an on-field “RR” hat he liked. Unfortunately for me, once again, there weren’t any hats in my size, which was 2 7/8.

Bill had us back to his house by 5:20pm and I still trembled with excitement from our visit to Riders Field. Part of that excitement came from being on the field, but the other part was being there with Bill and Scott. It had been one of the best days of the trip so far, at least for me. Even with its dark Presidential past, Dallas is one of my all-time favorite cities to visit. I could stand on the Grassy Knoll all day long and watch people dodge traffic as they run out to the white “X” in the middle of Elm Street. After dinner, Anthony was still poking verbal jabs at my photographer for nearly getting him killed while he posed for pictures. And each time he told the story, the yarn was embellished more – the vehicles got closer and closer, and death stared him in the face. All I could do was sit back and laugh to myself. There was no doubt in my mind Anthony enjoyed our time in Dallas; even though he might have difficulty admitting it.

My photographer set me on the nightstand and extinguished the lights in our room at 10:30pm. Just before the two of us went up the stairs, I overheard the family as they discussed the next day’s agenda – a group trip to the Fort Worth Stockyards to see the cattle drive. I didn’t want to be a “Debby Downer”, but I hoped Tom would opt-out of that adventure. If the two of us did anything together, I preferred it would be a return trip to Dealey Plaza.

Throughout the night, while Tom snored loud enough to wake the dead, I couldn’t get Lee Harvey Oswald out of my mind. It was as though his restless spirit followed me every step of the way – from the police station where Oswald was shot to the theater where he was captured. I also thought I caught a brief glimpse of him as he peeked out of a sixth-floor window in the Texas School Book Depository; and I felt his presence when I stood where Officer Tippit was killed. Was he trying to tell me something? Was Lee Oswald admitting he assassinated JFK and Tippit, or was he still denying his guilt 58 years later? In the darkness of that upstairs room in the Johnson house, and in between the wood-cutting sound from Tom’s nose, I swore I heard someone say in a very faint whisper: “I’m just a patsy”.

*This post is dedicated to several people – Anthony Fiscelli for having our backs in Dallas. Griffin Schmucker for our tour of the Texas Theater. Scott Burchett for his generosity at Riders Field. And Bill Johnson for saying “All y’all” during our time in Frisco.