The Day John Fitzgerald Kennedy Past. Welby Thomas Cox, Jr.

code and is defined as the speaking or writing of words calculated to excite disaffection against the Constitution." He said.

      “Look, I never ask an inmate about the amount of time they got or about their case,"

      "Well I haven't spoken much to many folks, but you are a different breed of cat...you understand and speak the English language." You know what I mean, Joe?"

      "No the name is Welby..."

      "They call me Ham, names Merwin Sylvester Hamilton"

      They shook hands with the inmate fist...just to acknowledge the issue of contamination.

      Anyone checking in on these two old geezers would have been struck by how much fun they seemed to be having. Ham Hamilton for his part had spent so much time in this antiquated prison and raised so much hell over the celli assignments that those on high had simply decided to let him have a "one" man room. In the process Ham had lost many social skills, including personal hygiene.

      When the Atlanta prison was originally built it must have been an awesome facility for any student of architecture. The facade is truly inspiring and the design of the atrium, now copied by the most elegant hotel chains, (Hyatt Hotels) comes to mind, set the precedent for the future, 100 years hence.

      The prison policy provided one (1) hour for inmates to leave the cell and to perform one of the following: Get fed, get ice and water, use the phone, get reading material, socialize...and last but not least...take a shower.

      The design of the showers was an afterthought and had to have been designed by a homosexual staff member because they were designed to face the atrium...like a closet, providing no privacy to undress or dress, additionally there was an ever present film and the odor from a series of long standing farts which had taken residence within the small space to be shared with other unspeakable matter which coated the walls and the floor.

      Little wonder that the vast majority of the inmates utilized the sponge bath and avoided the spectacle and dehumanizing emphasis placed on and designed into the shower.

      But Ham Hamilton had carried this issue to an extreme, following in the footsteps of the "latter day genius and bazaar nature exhibited by Howard Hughes." In fact, Ham Hamilton had become Howard Hughes, and since he lived in darkness and there were no mirrors, Ham felt safe and comfortable within his skin, and regardless of the weekly comments of the inmate population, Hamilton was going to spend his, under his own conditions and to hell with what anyone else thought.

      Unlike most incoming cellies, most especially the black population who carried all hygiene to an extreme and had perfected their own sense of standards because they were the majority...I chose not to cause a stir over Ham's appearance and his odor. He had secured disinfectant in a spray bottle and both of us used it on the toilet and sink. I took it upon myself to wash the floor on hands and knees so that the space was close as we could get to clean and the air was reasonably fresh because the glass was broken.

      It was in this atmosphere of mutual respect and generational comradely that I was not only able to confirm what I knew about the Kennedy assassination, what was out there in the public domain but through providence I was on a 24/7 co-habitation with the "keeper of the clandestine operational methodology" employed by the government, principally the CIA to murder the President.

      There was only one path for me to take...and when you come to the end of the road which only goes right...take it. I chose to wait Ham out, when he wanted to talk, I was all ears...and note pad.

      More importantly, I had begun to develop a respect and warmth for a man who through no fault of his own, was caught in the performance of his duty in the library at the CIA at Langley and his very participation as an American patriot dedicated to his country formed the basis for that very government to indict him for sedition and conspiracy to commit murder.

      Like Lee Harvey Oswald, because Ham Hamilton knew the shadow network and the players employed in the scheme initially to bring down the government of Fidel Castro and to salvage the failed effects of the Bay of Pigs, Hamilton refused under his right to testify against himself and the right to remain silent under the Constitutional rights of the Fifth Amendment, when the Warren Commission came calling, those responsible for the operation, found Oswald to be a convenient patsy.

      So far Hamilton had told me little, except that there was a conspiracy to overthrow Castro and this accomplished by an attempt on the life of President Kennedy, designed to inflame the government of the United States and the citizens demanding retaliation against the obvious source of this failed assassination attempt by a disaffected and mentally ill Oswald who had been selected and trained to take the fall.

      Deep within the shadow of this dark conspiracy, by government operatives rested the flaming question and the chilling answer ostensibly sought by the Warren Commission, "Why was it done and who was responsible?"

      Hamilton had the answer to both questions, even-though every sophisticated spy methodology had been put in place to cover the true identities of the layers of the principles.

      Never again in his long life, in this world or the next, would he know the inner power, rising to a clarion call, this secret force of the soul, waiting in the wings to bring down the curtain. Ham Hamilton was to be the Narrator, the Captain of the ship and only upon his command would the ship of state… sail on.

      Chapter II

      INSIDE LANGLEY

      Darian Welch is in a room surrounded by books, the room of documents, the room of theories and dreams. He is in the fourth of five extended contract periods, each lasting for five years. He knows his way around and he often wonders if he is becoming moribund. Age is creeping in, his memory is failing him and there is an issue with his right hand, the hand that is so creative...is it carpal tunnel or something more serious. It is, he believes, an insidious function of his job.

      A job that will not permit him to file for disability, even though, he can no longer concentrate on the research and must return often to plowed ground. He wonders over these tended fields that give reason to speculation and compromise on solutions.

      Naps become essential... on a sofa, in a chair, even standing at a book shelf. This "safe house" where he has grown old, only the books, only the walls know that his career is over.

      But Welch knows where most everything is in the system; any file on any of the shelves is within his reach. The place is a tornado to the uninformed, cassette tapes, yellow pads are to be found on every shelf. The books for research cover all but one wall, all the tables and even the floor is a solid mass of research. There are confidential documents in file cabinets which go back to the beginning of time for the agency. Fire is a major concern. There is no formal system except for the design of the curator; Merwin Hamilton wakes with a jolt, wondering if he is at home...and if not where is he?

      He is terrified now by the enormity of the job...this mill of dynamic aggression has him by the throat and he is chocking in despair. He lies in the research...and the casualty of all of the lives that have been impacted by it.

      Welch knows the importance of the curator, his man Merwin Hamilton, whom he calls Bob Crachet...fills his orders. Hamilton, though he is just thirty something has been with the company straight out of college, for about eight years and a lot goes down in that time.

      Welch has found that this is a unique man who never forgets and lives for the agency. He is not only dependable but is reconciled over his dedication to returning the precise research request... a man like this makes you look good and Welch knew it.

      It wasn't just the proper documents... nor even an obtuse remark or opinion by a marked suspect. The Curator brings him the confidential research that no one outside the company at Langley...research that is so sensitive, including the results of internal investigations and files from the Agencies own Office of Security.

      Welch lays back in his Italian leather recliner...the senior analyst for the Central Intelligence Agency reflecting on his extended contract which requires him to write the secret history of the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy on November 22, 1963.