"Patsy!": The Life and Times of Lee Harvey Oswald (47 page)

“'A politician is a statesman who approaches every question with an open mouth,' according to Stevenson.”

“Explaining why Jack won the presidency and Adlai lost.”

“Twice.”

“And why he would've lost a third time, even to a sleaze like Nixon, had he chosen to run again the last time around.”

“Ask the public what they most want in a president and they say ‘sincerity.' Yet the moment a candidate reveals himself to be unbendingly sincere, his candidacy is dead in the water.”

“That defines the distinction between devout political ideals and the realities of politics?”

“The distinction and also the irony. The terrible reason why cynics win elections.”

“Which, as any professional pol will tell you, is what the people most complain about: abject cynicism.”

“It is in the American character to claim to hate that.”

“Yes. And in our character to vote for it every time.”

*

The official line had long held that Stevenson knew nothing about the recruitment and training of Cuban exiles down south in Miami. Then again, only a blind, deaf oaf could possibly have remained oblivious to much of what took place in broad daylight. Deeply concerned about the emergence of what he'd been the first to negatively dismiss as 'cowboy diplomacy,' Stevenson months earlier called the White House in a panic to set up a meeting.

“I know how busy Mr. Kennedy is. But I must see him!”

“Very well, Mr. Ambassador. I'll try my best.”

A year and a half following Eisenhower's ‘56 re-election, Ike's second victory over Democratic candidate Adlai Stevenson, things no longer ran quite so evenly in the country. The economy faltered; experts began employing the dreaded ‘r' word, fearing a deep recession. As a result, mainstream people were no longer happy. This could only benefit the next democratic presidential nominee. He would run against what could now be posited as a disappointing Republican administration. If, as most everyone assumed, Richard Nixon, Ike's V.P. for eight years, became that party's standard bearer, the man's unpleasantness could aid the Democrats. Do you really want eight more years of the same? And with a man you would not want to buy a used car from?

We can offer you a New Frontier!

From the moment JFK appeared on the scene, young people embraced the possibility that Stevenson's values might at last be actualized by this charismatic newcomer. Many loyal Dems hoped, trusted, requested that following the election, JFK appoint Stevenson as Secretary of State. That didn't happen. A younger man, Dean Rusk, won that spot. Now an elder statesman, Adlai instead received the honor of being named our ambassador to the United Nations, headquartered in York City.

Those rock-ribbed Republicans and right wing extremists, desperate to return to the old Fortress America attitudes that dated back to before the World War I, would quote our first president out of context: “Our country should avoid all foreign entanglements!” The most extreme
among these were residents of the rural south and far
west. There, a logo appeared not only on lapel buttons and bumper stickers but painted across the solid rock of high-reaching cliffs: “U.S. OUT of U.N.!”

Somehow, such citizens must be persuaded to accept that America could no longer exist as an island of democracy when political seas had grown turbulent and complex. Such waves splashed Third World problems up against America's shores.

Who better for that job than honest Adlai?

Part of the reason JFK had been elected, despite a rigid Catholic background which made some heartland types nervous, was that he'd cultivated a Teddy Roosevelt image: intellectual Rough Rider, a man not only of articulate words but also bold deeds.

“You know,” the President said as they sat across from each other in the Oval Office, sipping coffee, “when he couldn't slip off to golf, Ike used to take his mind off The Cold War by coming in here and reading Zane Grey novels.”

“I'm aware, Mr. President, that Ike liked cowboy stories.”

“I do, too. Except I find those books awfully dated.”

“In all honesty? I don‘t read them.”

JFK grinned, knowing how much Stevenson enjoyed the serious novels of John Updike and John Cheever, as well as other acute observers of everyday upscale American life.

“No, I didn't imagine you would. Personally, I like light reading. The frontier spirit, that sort of thing.”

“In truth, Mr. President, isn't that more myth than reality? As someone who enjoys books on history, I know—”

“Yes, yes. I'm sure you can rattle off all the facts, Adlai. I read history, too, you know. But I'm also a man of the people. And do you know where the masses get their ideas?”

Stevenson swallowed hard. “On the six o'clock news?”

JFK smiled while shaking his head ‘no.' “At the movies. And from popular fiction, which more often than not gets turned into movies. Have you seen any good movies lately, Adlai?”

Why are we talking about trashy books and Hollywood films? I came here to ... oh, I get it. He's tooling me. Of course. I can feel it. The Kennedy charm. He's as charismatic as a movie star and knows it. And he uses it to his own purpose.

“Truthfully, Mr. President, I'd rather talk about—”

“We will, Adlai.” About to close in for the kill, JFK smiled sweetly. “And, please, call me Jack. My friends do.”

Adlai found himself capitulating. “I appreciate that.”

“As do I! I want to thank you for being a loyal friend, a loyal Democrat. And, most of all, a loyal American.”

“I do try, sir.”

“You do more than try. You get the job done. Now, you see, I have an extremely important job that must shortly be done.”

Please, God, let me be strong!

“I know. That's why I so needed to come here today.”

“Of course. So now let's discuss whatever you wish.”

*

That conversation took place three months prior to the attack, first by air and then sea to land, on Cuba. One week before what those in the know referred to as D-Day II, Tracy Barnes arrived in New York City to confer with Stevenson. His mission: Seal the deal JFK had initiated. Barnes was what all in D.C. circles referred to as 'a good soldier': entirely committed, earnest, dependable.

On April 13, radio announcers reported Manhattan's weather as ‘overcast'; dark gray skies above, a slight hint of sunshine occasionally cutting through, hinting at spring. Stevenson stood by his window at the United Nations building in Manhattan's Turtle Bay area, peering down at pedestrians strolling East 42
nd
Street. Most were at best only vaguely aware of international
problems raised within this stately building, constructed some thirteen years earlier. How deeply he cared about such people!

And how fiercely he wanted to believe the current president felt for those ordinary, naïve, decent folks as he did.

“We in Washington have an inkling,” Barnes stated, seated and gazing at Stevenson's back, “that a considerable number of Cuban democrats will attempt to retake their country. Some reports suggest it could occur in days. We don't know that for certain. Some of us, myself included, believe it will. If so, my guess is, this will begin late Friday or early Saturday and be all over by Monday. At that time, Castro will be dead.”

Momentarily, Stevenson stood as still as the proverbial statue. Barnes worried this man he had patently lied to—lied by omitting that CIA agents would direct the mission while the sea-to-land invasion would be launched from U.S. Naval vessels—might suffer a major stroke. Barnes was about to hurry over, sincerely concerned, when the silver-haired ambassador suddenly spun around.

To Barnes' shock, Stevenson looked to have been crying. “Tell me precisely what it is you want of me,” he gasped.

“Mr. Stevenson, please.” Not incapable of empathy, Barnes' heart went out, touched by this man's vulnerable appearance and his threatened tone of voice. “You sound as if I'm Old Scratch himself, here to steal away your immortal soul.”

“Ha!” Not the sort to laugh out loud, Adlai shocked Barnes with his unexpected outburst. “You nailed that one.”

“Oh, Mr. Ambassador. Please ...”

Barnes cautiously rose and stepped forward. He'd had some brief contacts with this man in the past and respected him.

“Please, what?”

“Mr. Ambassador, please keep in mind that, though there will be blood, all of this—if in fact it does happen—will absolutely lead to a greater good for everyone.”

“Sir, I do not doubt the nobility of your intentions.”

“Thank you! So—”

“Who claimed that the road to hell is lined with them?”

“I ... can't recall.”

“No matter, only that it was said.”

“Sir. We must do what we think is right—”

“Don't tell me!” Incredible, but Adlai actually appeared angry, an emotion he had not seemed capable of. “I know. Because you ... me ...
we
... are ‘the good guys.'”

Without hesitation, Barnes replied: “Precisely.”

“But you see,” Stevenson continued, abruptly turning away, “I'm not certain I believe in good guys anymore. Or bad-guys. I did once. Back during the war. Surely, Hitler was the monster. We, in ending his reign of terror, qualified as dragon-slayer.”

“Even as Castro is now. White Knights are needed again.”

Stevenson‘s eyebrows rose high, his mouth pursing. “Do you think so? Make no mistake about it, I'd love to believe what you say. And that by opposing the bad qualifies us as good. But ... let me be honest here ... lately, I do have my doubts.”

What pitiable eyes this man has
, Barnes thought.
The opposite of JFK's. JFK reduces you to rubble with a glance. This poor bastard? His eyes offer a wide-open window into the world of his soul
.

Barnes honestly regretted what he had to do next. Still, he did his job. “No question Castro spells bad news for the U.S.”

“Perhaps because we made him that way?”

“I can't answer that, Mr. Ambassador. In all honesty, I really don't know that you're wrong there.”

“So ...”

“What I
do
know: What's past, right or wrong, is past—”

“Don't tell me,” Adlai interrupted. “That was then; this, now. God, how I
hate
that expression.”

“People use it all the time these days.”

“I wish they wouldn't. It sets aside any commitment to authentic, meaningful, ongoing standards.”

“Still, we live in the present tense. We are Americans. Like any nation, we must put our own survival first.”

“Which means bringing down Castro?”

“That's a bit harsh. Let's say, rather, we will stand aside and allow our Cuban allies, those who love us and
hate him, to accomplish that task for us. Do you have a problem with
that?
”

What followed marked the longest pause in the conversation. “I ... do not. I know people will die. But that's the way of the world. If the Cubans can accomplish this by themselves—”

“Wonderful! That's all I need to—”

“I wasn't finished! Will you give me your assurance, your absolute word of honor, that the United States will not, through either military or para-military units, assume any active role?”

“I absolutely promise you we will not,” Barnes lied.

Fuck! This is one rough job. But somebody has to do it.

Stevenson stared hard into Barnes's eyes, trying to grasp whether the man were telling the truth. “You are here, I assume, as a representative of the president, the State Department, and the CIA?” he asked.

“That is correct.”

“As a member of that organization, can you swear to me, and in so doing imply the honor of Dulles—John and Allen, for that matter—and the president, that this ‘operation' as you call it will be entirely managed and carried out by anti-Castro Cubans?”

Barnes was too savvy to hesitate: “I can tell you that is absolutely the case,” he lied. Not wanting any slack in the exchange to allow Stevenson a moment to reconsider, Barnes continued his barrage. Cubans would fly from abandoned airfields. No U.S. representatives would be involved. We would do nothing but wish them luck. If they fail. Too bad. But if they should win, so much the better.

Stevenson had to curb a desire to snicker, though cynicism was not a natural emotion for such a man of integrity. “What's a man to do?” he suddenly asked, shaking.

“The right thing.”

“Ah. But how do we know what that is?”

Out of respect for Stevenson, Barnes could manipulate him no more. He replied: “That, as they say on TV, Mr. Ambassador, is the 64,000 dollar question.”

A minute later Barnes was gone, leaving Adlai alone in his office, sobbing. The ambassador prayed he'd been told the truth.

If he gained any inkling that was not the case, he'd remain loyal to his basic values despite whatever the next days might bring. He rolled this whole thing over in his mind, returning to the conversation he'd had with Kennedy three months earlier.

*

JFK had segued back to where their discussion began; Ike and his beloved Zane Grey novels, those potboiler Westerns lowbrows read. Mostly, as JFK had mentioned offhand, these centered around a cowboy named ‘Lassiter.' The man with one name. A foreboding stranger who rides into town and cleans it up, then drifts on to his next bold act.

“Funny, how heroes come and go. Today, I'd imagine only older people, from Ike's generation, reach for those books.” JFK opened his desk drawer and pulled out a paperback, tossing it to his guest. “Have you read this?”