9

IN CLINTON our investigation had established a clear link between Clay Shaw and David Ferrie. But we faced a real communications problem. Would most people believe that the urbane, sophisticated Clay Shaw even knew the disheveled, bizarre David Ferrie, much less that he would consort with him? These two men of such disparate personalities not only worked together but were also the closest of friends. The only way to prove this to skeptics was to find more witnesses who knew the odd pair. This we did over a period of months.

One important witness was Jules Ricco Kimble, a member of far-right groups like the Minutemen and the Ku Klux Klan, whose name also surfaced later in relation to the slaying of Martin Luther King, Jr.[42] A youngster in his teens in late 1960 or early 1961, Kimble was drinking at the Golden Lantern, one of the bistros located deep in the Vieux Carré, when Dave Ferrie introduced him to Clay Shaw. After that, recalled Kimble, he saw Shaw on various occasions. One day in late 1961 or early 1962, he received a phone call from Ferrie, who asked if he would like to take an overnight plane trip with him. Kimble was agreeable; he met Ferrie at the airport and at that time learned that Shaw was coming along. They were going to fly to Canada to pick someone up.

Kimble remembered Shaw as seated in the back of the airplane during the trip and either sleeping or thumbing through a book. He also recalled that Shaw carried a brown briefcase with him.

Ferrie landed the plane in Nashville, Tennessee, Louisville, Kentucky, and Toronto, Canada, to gas up, using a Gulf credit card. The final stop was Montreal. Kimble and Ferrie stayed overnight in a hotel in Dorval right outside of Montreal.[43] Shaw disappeared after they landed, and they did not see him until the next morning at about eight o’clock, the agreed-upon time for departure to New Orleans.

When Shaw arrived back at the plane, as Kimble recalled, he had a “Mexican or Cuban” with him. He described the man as heavy-set, dark-skinned, balding in the front, and in his early or middle thirties. Shaw and the Latin man sat in the back of the airplane together, and the latter spoke to Shaw only in broken English. Kimble described the plane as a Cessna 172, which he thought belonged to a friend of Ferrie’s. When they arrived back at the New Orleans Lakefront Airport, Kimble said, they all climbed into his automobile and he drove them into town. About a month or so later, he got another phone call from Ferrie asking if he wanted to make a similar trip back to Canada, but this time he declined.

There were a couple of interesting aspects to this tale. First, Shaw was known to have a fear of flying. Yet here he was in a small Cessna on a long journey. This might well have indicated a more than routine mission for which Shaw felt personally responsible. Second, Ferrie never filed flight plans, so conveniently for Shaw there was no record of this trip or any other he may have made with Ferrie.

Kimble’s statement did not end there. He said that he had seen Shaw on different occasions in barrooms and at the International Trade Mart in New Orleans, which Shaw directed. Kimble had heard other people introduce Clay Shaw as Clay Bertrand, but he had never been introduced to him as Clay Bertrand.

During the period of his association with Ferrie and Shaw, Kimble related, contacts were developed for him with several C.I.A. agents. Their names, as he recalled, were Steinmeyer, who, he informed members of my staff, had since been transferred to Texas; Natt Brown, who still was in New Orleans at the time of Kimble’s statement; and a third agent called Red, whose last name he did not know. Kimble used to meet with them in motel rooms, where he would give them reports, pictures, and recordings, and would receive in exchange his paycheck or cash, for which he would sign a voucher. These agents, he added, would often mail instructions to him at his post office box, number 701-30252, at the main office on Lafayette Street.[44]

There were other occasions when Shaw and Ferrie were observed in each other’s company. For example, Ferrie had introduced a young friend of his, David Logan, to Shaw at Dixie’s, a watering hole on Bourbon Street at the corner of St. Peter. Earlier Ferrie had brought Logan to a bar called the Galley House, on the corner of Toulouse and Chartres Street, where they also met Shaw. Once again while with Ferrie, Logan met Shaw at a private party on Governor Nichols Street. As a result of these meetings, the young man came to know Shaw quite well and was invited for dinner at Shaw’s elegant carriage house at 1313 Dauphine Street. Logan recalled that dinner was served by a uniformed waiter, with each of them sitting at opposite ends of a nine-foot table. Evidently Shaw’s passion for grandeur never left him.

In a quite different situation, Nicholas Tadin, the chief of a local musicians’ union, and his wife, Mathilda, went out to New Orleans Airport one weekend afternoon to talk to David Ferrie about giving flying lessons to their son. (Ferrie was then operating a flight school.) After they had parked their car, they saw Ferrie coming out of the hangar talking to Clay Shaw. When Shaw turned away from the Tadins and walked to his car, Ferrie waved at him. Mrs. Tadin asked who Ferrie’s visitor was, and her husband, who had seen Shaw on previous occasions, informed her that he was the director of the International Trade Mart.

Another individual we located who had met Clay Shaw through David Ferrie was Raymond Broshears, a long-time friend of Ferrie’s who occasionally drifted into town from Long Beach, California. We caught up with Broshears, a talkative fellow, sometime after Ferrie’s death. It was back in 1965, he told us, at Dixie’s bar, sufficiently off the beaten path and deep enough in the Vieux Carré for Shaw to be comfortable, where Broshears first met Shaw. Later that evening, on one of the few occasions when Shaw publicly had dinner at a restaurant with Ferrie, Shaw went home and changed from his sport clothes into less casual attire, meeting the other two at the restaurant. Broshears described him as dressed in a “beautiful” gray suit.

On another occasion, Broshears was with Ferrie at a sidewalk cafe on Bourbon Street when Shaw was driven up in a large black chauffeured car. Broshears recalled that Ferrie went over and had a brief conversation with Shaw before the latter was driven off.

Broshears saw Ferrie and Shaw together another time on the corner of Dauphine Street and another French Quarter cross-street that Broshears could not remember. Ferrie brought him to the corner and indicated that they were waiting for Shaw to come by. Shaw drove up, again in an imposing black car, and handed Ferrie a large brown envelope. Then, glancing in Broshears’ direction, Shaw informed Ferrie that the F.B.I. was looking for Broshears. After Shaw drove off, Ferrie opened the envelope, which contained cash, and gave Broshears some of the money inside.

Ferrie would never discuss his connection with President Kennedy’s assassination, Broshears said, except when he was intoxicated. When he became sufficiently drunk, however, he went to great pains to emphasize that his role had been marginal. He invariably added that providing a service connected with an assassination did not really constitute participation in the assassination.

Over a period of months Ferrie got to know Broshears better and told him more. According to Broshears, Ferrie had driven to Houston, Texas, on the afternoon of the assassination. His assignment was to wait there until he was joined by two members of the assassination team from Dallas. These two men were scheduled to arrive in a single-engine plane piloted by one of the assassins, a man named Carlos, whom Ferrie knew well. Once out of the Dallas area, a twin-engine plane was regarded as more practical, and that was where Ferrie was to have come in. He had been assigned to pick up the two members of the team after the single-engine plane arrived in Houston, thereupon flying them on to a more distant location.

Ferrie said that he had done everything he was supposed to, including going to the ice-skating rink in Houston and waiting for Carlos, but Carlos failed to show up. Broshears at first thought that Ferrie was making this up.

In time, as Ferrie would get drunk and describe again his waiting for Carlos at the ice-skating rink in Houston, Broshears realized that Ferrie was not making it up. It developed that there had been a last-minute change in the departure plans for these two particular members of the assassination team.

Ferrie never revealed to Broshears who gave him his orders. But he left no doubt that he did not consider Carlos qualified to fly any aircraft with a higher rating than single engine. He described Carlos as a Cuban exile, like the other member of the assassination team who had been assigned to arrive in Houston with him. Ferrie had met them both in New Orleans. They were convinced that President Kennedy had sold them out to the communists.

Or so Broshears stated. I had been leery from the outset of details about the assassination volunteered by individuals. I was more interested in bringing into focus the forces involved. However, I could not ignore the detail about the Cubans Ferrie said he had met in New Orleans. Ferrie, I knew, had been the guerrilla instructor for Guy Banister and his mix of Americans and Cubans at the training camp north of Lake Pontchartrain. And so this contribution of Broshears’s fit the developing picture. I had three separate statements taken from Broshears. There was little variation in detail from one to the next.

As we gathered these statements from Broshears and the other witnesses, we had no idea that Shaw and Ferrie were aware of our investigation and were continuing to meet and plan together in hopes of heading it off. But in September 1967, a man who had spent a number of evenings being courted for his services by Shaw and Ferrie found his way to my office and gave an extensive statement about the pair’s activities to Jim Alcock.

Edward Whalen, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, was a professional criminal. He had spent most of his adult life in the penitentiary. A friend he would not name got Ferrie on the phone with Whalen in early 1967 in Columbus, Ohio, where Whalen was at least temporarily “at liberty.” Ferrie asked Whalen to join him in New Orleans. Whalen learned that big money was to be made by hitting the Jung Hotel and the small jewelry store at the intersection of Baronne and Gravier streets.

Whalen, having recently stolen a new car in Columbus, drove down to New Orleans. He abandoned his recent acquisition on some side street and met Ferrie at the Absinthe House on Bourbon Street. Ferrie, who was wearing his usual eye-catching second-hand threads, appeared intoxicated to Whalen. Whalen pulled up a chair and joined him at the table.

Ferrie began the meeting with a discussion of his flying ability. Not a sentimental man, Whalen cut Ferrie short and said that he needed money because he was on the run from the police. Ferrie assured him that he could earn a large sum of money and, if need be, he himself would fly Whalen out of the country. In this first conversation, which lasted about half an hour, Ferrie did not tell Whalen the details of his plan.

After this meeting, Whalen spent the night at an apartment provided by Ferrie. Ferrie also provided Whalen with a black Ford, a little the worse for wear, for his use while he was in town. It was agreed that the next night Whalen was to meet Ferrie and someone else at the Absinthe House.

Whalen arrived at the Absinthe House first. Shortly thereafter, Ferrie arrived with another man, who was introduced as Clay Bertrand. Ferrie did most of the talking, while Whalen, sizing him up, remained silent. From time to time Ferrie referred to the other man, who from the description was obviously Clay Shaw, as Clay Bertrand. Shaw became nettled but said nothing directly to Ferrie.

Upon leaving the Absinthe House, the three of them drove to Ferrie’s apartment on Louisiana Avenue Parkway, which Whalen accurately described down to the shabby furniture.

There Ferrie finally got around to the point. He and Shaw wanted someone killed. Shaw was going to advance $10,000 to Whalen before the job. After it was completed, Whalen would receive another $15,000, Shaw would provide him with a phony passport, and Ferrie would fly him to Mexico. Shaw said the intended victim was going to be a witness against him for something that had been done in the past and that if this man was not stopped, Shaw would end up in the penitentiary for a long time. The victim’s name was not mentioned at this time. Whalen was wary of the deal, but he pretended to string along. Before he left, Shaw gave him $300 spending money. Whalen spent that night at a motel on Tulane Avenue. He did not use his real name on the register but could not remember the one he used.

The next day Ferrie met Whalen at Moran’s restaurant. After breakfast Ferrie suggested they take a ride. While they were in the car, Ferrie asked him if he had ever heard of Jim Garrison. Whalen said he had not. Ferrie then told Whalen that Garrison was the district attorney and that this was the man they wanted killed. Now Whalen finally told Ferrie he wanted nothing to do with the deal. Ferrie attempted to talk him into going through with the plan, but Whalen refused. They parted with the agreement to meet the next night at the Absinthe House. Whalen spent that night at a motel on Airline Highway. He did not remember the name of the motel or the name under which he had registered.

Whalen and Ferrie met at the Absinthe House the next night as planned. From there, they went directly to Shaw’s apartment on Dauphine Street. Whalen recalled that the apartment was on the first floor and that the interior was extremely lavish.

At first only Shaw, Ferrie, and Whalen were in the apartment, and Shaw and Ferrie were trying to persuade Whalen to go through with the plan. After about a half hour, a short fat man wearing dark glasses wandered in. Shaw introduced him as Dean Andrews. Andrews and Shaw conversed for a while away from Ferrie and Whalen, and shortly thereafter Andrews left the apartment.

Shaw then turned to Whalen and continued to try to persuade him. Shaw said he had done some checking on Whalen and he knew that Whalen’s daughter suffered from polio. Shaw said that if Whalen would go through with the plan, he would get Whalen’s daughter the finest medical treatment money could buy and also see to it that she was sent to college. However, Whalen insisted that he would not kill a district attorney, and he and Ferrie left.

Once outside, Ferrie told Whalen he was making a mistake; Clay Bertrand, he said, could do a lot for him. Also, Ferrie spoke of Lee Oswald for the first time. He said that Bertrand had done a lot for Oswald and that it was only because Oswald had fouled up that he was killed. Oswald was an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency, Ferrie claimed, and had received money from him and Shaw at one time. Ferrie also said that they had been given “inside” information from Dean Andrews that Jim Garrison was about to start an investigation into the assassination of President Kennedy. Ferrie boasted that he had set up the assassination of Kennedy and mentioned the names of other important people he claimed to know. Whalen said he did not believe these statements, which he regarded as name-dropping in an attempt to get him to change his mind. Whalen insisted he wanted nothing to do with the plan, and he left.

Except for a tendency to be vague about dates and times, Edward Whalen, in my judgment, had given a very accurate statement to Jim Alcock. Particularly persuasive to me was Whalen’s knowledge that Dean Andrews had tipped off Shaw and Ferrie about my impending investigation. At the time of Whalen’s meetings with Shaw and Ferrie, the only person outside of my immediate staff whom I had told about the investigation was none other than Dean Andrews at our memorable lunch.

I was surprised to learn that I had become a target for removal. But looking back on our investigation, a little gain here, a little gain there, I found it easy to put myself in the place of Shaw and Ferrie. Their desperation, especially after my conversation with Dean Andrews at Broussard’s restaurant, was perfectly understandable. But it did not scare me, and it certainly did not stop me. I have always been constitutionally unable to back away from a confrontation. To me, what was happening in my life was a sort of continuation of World War II, except that it was a different kind of combat—and a different enemy. As far as I was concerned, Shaw and Ferrie and whoever was behind them would have to back up before I did.

Shaw well may have had the C.I.A. connections to request that I be eliminated. But the Agency, I had realized by then, had more subtle and sophisticated ways to deal with any threat from me. My guess was that in contacting Whalen, Shaw and Ferrie had created a rogue operation of their own as a solution to their legal problems.

Our investigation had spent months discovering numerous witnesses who had positively linked Shaw and Ferrie together. We still did not know precisely what they had been up to. But if they had reached the point of hiring a hit man to kill me, it had to be something pretty heavy.