The Bus Ride
The Kennedy Assassinations -- A Friendly Jew Reveals The Real Truth
by Tom Adams


Introduction  --  The Whodunit of the Century  
Chapter 1  --  The Ride  
Chapter 2  --  Nostradamus?  Who Me?  
Chapter 3  --  Historical Facts  
Chapter 4  --  The Fatal Shooting Revealed  
Epilogue (MMVIII)  
Copright MMIII, Scrooge Publishing. All rights reserved


Introduction -- The Whodunit of the Century

Even the creator of Sherlock Holmes couldn't have conjured up a better murder mystery than the JFK assassination.

A  man is murdered in broad daylight.  In front of hundreds of focused potential witnesses, not just a random selection of folks negotiating a busy intersection of a big city.  And, with hundreds of still cameras clicking.  And, with dozens of motion picture cameras running.  And, with a multitude of law enforcement officers on duty.

Yet, the mystery remains.

Forty years later the mystery is still intact.  There still are no satisfactory proofs as to the WHO, WHY and HOW of it all.

We still do not know WHO was behind this crime.

We still do not know WHY the guilty party wanted this to happen.

And, we still do not know exactly HOW it was accomplished.

Oh, we know the givens of this story.  We know the WHAT, the WHEN, and the WHERE of this mystery -- the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, on Friday, 22 November, 1962, in Dallas, Texas.  But, all mystery stories have some three of these six pertinent questions postulated to begin with.

We still need the WHO, the WHY, and the HOW.

Well, that is the purpose of this book.

You are not asked to believe anything.  But you owe it to yourself to read this book, and then make up your own mind.


Chapter 1  --  The Ride

It was a beautiful Spring 1968 Sunday morning as I stepped out of the elevator into the lobby of a Detroit hotel.  For several years now I had flown from Milwaukee, where I was gainfully employed as a young electrical engineer, to weekend coin shows held in various Eastern cities (Detroit, Philadelphia, DC, etc.)

I found wheeling-and-dealing in collectibles highly profitable and great fun, and took about half a dozen such mini-vacations a year.  Taking an occasional Friday off hardly dented my vacation time, and a round trip flight was a real bargain ranging from $28.00 to $32.00.  The biggest expense was the hotel bill, averaging about $45.00 for the two days.

After completing the checkout procedure, I asked the clerk to call a taxi for me.  She offered that there was also a bus going to the airport in about ten minutes.  Decisions, decisions!  I could take a bus for twenty-five cents and suffer the indignity of having my freedom to smoke trampled on, or I could take a cab for two dollars, plus fifty cent tip.  Hmmm!  A carton of cigarettes cost a minimum of $2.84 in Wisconsin with its fixed prices for tobacco and dairy products, and only $2.00 in zillions of crude shacks a few feet south of the Illinois border.  I lit up a cigarette and walked outside into bright sunshine, and located the Bus Stop sign.  Hey, two dollars saved is two dollars earned!

The bus arrived and some people got off.  As I got in I noticed that I was the only passenger on board.  I could have any seat I wanted!  Instinct told me to take the closest seat to the door for smoothest exit in case the bus became crowded, but my mechanical sense told me to go toward the middle where the vibration amplitudes would be minimum.  I compromised and took the aisle seat in the second row, at the right, and placed my fully-loaded carry-on briefcase on the window seat.

I was feeling great.  It had been a very successful show for me, and I had good feelings also about meeting old and new friends and colleagues, the plurality of whom were Jews.

I thought of browsing thru my briefcase and exulting in all the good investments I had made when it occurred to me that the bus had been standing longer than at a regular bus stop.  I got up to ask the driver if there was enough time to get off and have a cigarette, just when another passenger got on.  We began that awkward, albeit oft-occurring dance step where both partners first lean one way together, then the other way in a ridiculously unsuccessful effort to negotiate passing in a narrow aisle.  The other chap took the easy way out.  He lifted his giant suitcase into the window seat of the first row behind the driver's partition, at the left, and pirouetted to sit down, a single procedure which encompassed the mutual exchange of mumbled Excuse Me's.

The driver told me that we'd be leaving in about a minute, so I sat down again.  A young Negro lady and her pretty little daughter got on and walked all the way to the back of the bus, an action which I found mildly ironic.  Anyway, the two continued to chat amicably for the duration of the trip.

The other man, was about my height (six feet), rather thin, and had nice snow white wavy hair and dark rimmed glasses.  He had tan trousers, light brow jacket with those eastern collegiate elbow pads, and a white dress shirt without a tie, and looked to me like somebody out of a TV news clip in Florida.  I noted that because I was dressed ready for a Midwestern blizzard back in Milwaukee.

In retrospect, this man resembled Arthur F Burns.  I might as well follow-up on this trivia here.  Burns was the Chairman of the Fed, that is, the Federal Reserve System, from 1970 thru 1978.  In those days he was often in TV news, and also in many numismatic newspapers and magazines.  Actually, I didn't make the connection immediately.  Years later it kept bugging me that I had seen this Arthur Burns before, somewhere, but where?  It finally dawned on me that Burns looked slightly similar to the guy on the bus to Detroit airport in 1968.  Not identical, but similar.  Burns was younger, shorter, and with a more rounded face, but the facial features, hair and glasses were very similar.

Back at the ranch...The other man on the bus began fidgeting in his seat, cramped with his suitcase, in order to remove his jacket.  In the process his wallet popped out of his pocket into the center aisle, slightly in front of me.

The wallet was more than half as thick as it was wide, containing an above average quantity of inserts, cramped with pictures, cards, etc.  I picked it up in one smooth motion like a shortstop, albeit a seated one, in order to give it to him.

The motion of picking up the wallet took only about a second, but this second was more than enough time to launch a very mysterious experience.

The wallet was open exactly at the driver's license.

Name:  Nathan Jacob Goldstone.  Birth date:  ??, ??, 1891

In all honesty, I am a little fuzzy about the last name and the last digit of the year.  Instead of Goldstone it could have bee Goldstein, or Goldberg, and the birth year could have been 1891, or 1897, as the license was inside a plastic sleeve and some parts of the license were nearly invisible due to the reflections caused by the bright sunshine flooding in thru the windows of the bus.

I did not even notice which state he was from, tho the license was different in format from that of my state.  A rough calculation put his age between 77 and 71.  I figured that he would respond to the name Nate.

Tom [me]:  Excuse me, Nate, you dropped this.

Jack:  Thank you, young man.  It was very, very kind of you.  My name is Jack Goldstone, Dr Goldstone.  What's yours?  [Again, I paid very little attention to the last name, as I had no idea that it would ever be of any further importance to me.]

Tom:  Oh, no problem.  I am Tom Adams.  Are you a medical doctor?

Jack:  Oh, no.  My doctorate is in mechanical engineering.

I figured, well, that's that.  The polite conversation and with it the obligatory social stroking were over, and I could get back to my reveries, and perhaps even take a short nap to make up for the all-nite poker games.  I could not have been more wrong.

Jack kept talking to me for the entire drive to the airport.  All this time he was facing basically forward with a very slight angle to his right.  It occurred to me that he would not even be facing someone sitting directly across the aisle from him, ie, someone sitting in a seat in front of me.

I caught on rather quickly and decided to practice my pathetic good listener's skills by occasionally inserting things like:  REALLY?  TELL ME MORE.  GEE, THAT'S TERRIBLE.  SAY, THAT IS INTERESTING.  HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THAT.  Etc, etc.

Jack went on to explain that not only did he have a degree in mechanical engineering, he was the youngest ever to receive such a degree from a university in Moscow.  Moreover, that he was the first one ever to receive a doctorate in the mechanical engineering specialty of hydraulics.  Again, he mentioned the year, and again my attention was marginal, but anyway I calculated that it was sometime prior to the Titanic disaster, and certainly before the onset of World War One.

He also said that he had come to the United States in 1925 to stay, but that he had been back  to Moscow from time to time, on a regular basis.

It was at this juncture that I began taking notes, mostly just keywords, on a thin stack of IBM cards.  Carrying such cards, approximately 7.25 x 3.25 inches, held together with two or three rubber bands, as rubber bands wore out easily in those days, was a habit I had cultivated in school, as it was easier to review and edit and discard them as compared to those tiny spiral notebooks preferred by almost all other students.  Young engineers also liked those spiral notebooks, usually with the spiral horizontally across the top, and inserted into pocket protectors.  A few years later I switched to the line 3 by 5" cards, as companies began phasing out of IBM cards and they were no longer freely available.

Jack continued his monologue.  He explained that although he lives in Miami with his wife, he has to stop over in Washington DC, because Lyndon (yep, LBJ!) had requested his presence in order to help with a certain problem.  This was actually the point where I became slightly more interested, and asked him to be more specific.  He managed to avoid specific details, but I got the feeling that it wasn't to deprive me of knowing something, but to spare me the boring details involving some problems with labor unions.

So far, so good.  Here is a near octogenarian, talking up a storm, without any trace of senility, indeed, sharp as a tack.

Suddenly he began talking about his wife, still a schoolteacher, somewhat younger than he.  Oh, how the poor woman had suffered!  Recently she had broken a hip as a result of being continuously irritated by hoodlums yelling obscene racial slurs at her because she was Jewish, as she was arriving and leaving her condo.  Did I not agree that all these pint sized Neo-Nazis, Niggers and Frito Banditos, grade and high school age, should all be arrested and shot?

Now things became a little stickier for me.  I had heard vague rumors that Jews test Gentiles and other Non-Jews to see how they respond to such things.  That is, are they Pro-Jew, meaning Good, or Anti-Jew, meaning Bad People?  Or, did Jack think I was a co-religionist?  After all, he may have looked at my nose, slightly deformed in a street fight in my youth, and come to this conclusion.

Decisions, decisions!  I decided to practice diplomacy, another skill I was notoriously lousy at.  Yeah, I agree that his wife had been mistreated, but I wouldn't go as far as executing teenagers.  Besides, where did such a varied group of melting pot kids learn to act so rudely toward anyone, especially to single out Jews for this kind of exclusive treatment?

I did not get a specific answer to that question.  My feeling again was that Jack was not trying to be evasive, but that he thought that he had more important stuff to tell me.  Anyway, Jack deftly changed the subject.  Did I know that the Kennedys were behind all this Neo-Nazism in this country and elsewhere?  No, not really.  I asked Jack to explain it further, and to prove it.

Well, it appears that Bobby Kennedy [RFK] had just returned from a super secret trip to West Germany, Austria and Switzerland where he had attended huge, top level, international meetings, where, among other things, "they" laid plans for the killing of Jews.  Jack's details were again fuzzy, but it seems that the targeted Jews were mainly in USA, and "they" were working on some kind of device developed by European scientist for the killing of Jews.  Was I aware of this ultra secret Bobby Kennedy trip?  I had to confess that I wasn't.

At this point I became quite certain that Jack now actually believed that I was also a Jew, albeit an ignorant one, one who did not know about Bobby's trip.  From this point on I paid careful attention and, yes, he now used the word "we" to encompass both of us, or Jews as a group.

I asked how a machine could distinguish Jews from non-Jews for killing purposes.  Here Jack must have thought that I was really quite stupid, and in need of technical enlightenment.  Of course a machine can't distinguish among races.  It is just that this machine would be more efficient than gas chambers.  Jack's details were again fuzzy, but I got the vague impression that this machine had something to do with some kind death rays [lasers?].

Well, we're not going to stand for such things, are we?  We are going to get rid of all the Kennedys, just as we got rid of JFK.

Hmm.  Was this an admission that Jews had killed JFK?  I remembered hearing that Jews had been accused of helping JFK beat Nixon to the presidency, eg, fudging with election counts in the Skokie area and elsewhere.  When I asked about this, Jack said that "we" often cover both sides of most elections, so that no matter who wins, he will always be indebted to "us".

Yes, but what did "we" have against JFK?  Well, "we" always have to get our way.  Did I remember that "we" single handedly made the richest non-Jew in USA close up his Anti-Semitic newspaper  in the 1920's?  We are nearly invincible.  We use money or threats, but always work thru Goy flunkies.  Old Joe Kennedy never obeyed us.  He kept on yapping about "The Jewish Conspiracy", and supporting Hitler and the Nazis, before and during World War Two, at least verbally.  Yes, Joseph Kennedy must be made to suffer, and that means he must be made to watch his descendants perish.

Yes, Henry Ford was made to close his Dearborn, Michigan newspaper, and moreover, we now have almost complete control of his money.  How did we accomplish that, I queried.  I'll tell you a secret, young man.  Too bad you are an engineer.  You should have become an attorney or anything leading to middle and upper management, and then apply for a position, any kind of position in a foundation, and work up the corporate ladder, no matter how long it took.  A foundation?  Yes, a legal entity where a rich person places his money in trust, and where a part of it is spent on HIS favorite causes after his death.  It has taken us decades, but we now wield enough influence in the Ford Foundation.  Remember, we don't have to control everything hundred percent.  All we need is to use our influence, in imperceptibly small doses, when a small percentage of decisions come up which involve us or matters important to us.  Most decisions do not involve us, lending credence to our "fairness" in decision making.  And, yes, we are working on the various Kennedy trusts also.  It may take us generations to infiltrate a specific trust, but we shall keep the faith.

I told Jack that my father, who was a history buff, had suspected that Lyndon Johnson was the guilty one, as history books are full of instances where princes kill even their own fathers for the throne, and that LBJ figured that he would not be re-nominated for the next election and therefore this was his only chance feed his giant ego and to become the Greatest Man In The World.

Jack chuckled.  Yeah, everybody suspects everybody except us.  They forget that the Russians, Castro, and Mafia members who think rationally, all know that the death of any American President does not help them at all because under our political system he will be replaced immediately by someone with similar policies.  Yes, LBJ benefited, but he simply lucked out.  Only an ethnically and idealistically coherent group could get away with this.  And, don't give the Italians undue credit for their so called no-squeal loyalty to the death.  Most of them will sell out their mothers to save their own necks.  We got away with it because only precious few knew about it, and then only on need-to-know basis.  Remember, we not only had to distance ourselves totally, we had to put ourselves beyond any hint of suspicion as well.

Did I remember Jack Ruby, Jack asked me.  Yea, Jacob Rubinstein.  And, Lee Harvey Oswald?  Yes, I remember.  Yes, we had that Goy patsy, Oswald, going around in circles waiting for instructions concerning some "important" mission.  Actually, he was supposed to have been eliminated at the Book Depository, to completely tie up loose ends, but things got a bit messed up.  He really did not know when or where the JFK shooting was to take place.  But, he was supposed to be made to appear guilty if the JFK shooting went as planned.  Otherwise we would have kept stringing him along until the next we needed him.  The guy was a real sucker for adventure and intrigue.  Anyway, Oswald's assassin simply screwed up.  That's why we had to resort to using Ruby.  Convincing him was easy as he was a true believer in our cause, and he knew that he was terminally ill.  The stupid American Public completely swallowed his acting role as "The Jew Who Loved This Catholic So Much That He Acted Emotionally".

The actual shooting of JFK was done by one of three professional sharpshooters along the way, in case the first location did not produce the desired result.  Moreover, we had rough outlines of plans ready for the next five trips, in case Dallas wouldn't pan out.  JFK was doomed!  Nobody can tell you where the critical shots came from, as even we don't know.  We left such details to hired super-professionals simply interested in money.  And, it cost us plenty!

The bus stopped and its door creaked open.  Jack got up and exited the bus with his suitcase.  I followed him out with my briefcase, and stretched.  I was quite tense for having to think so hard before forming each comment or question.  Jack shook my hand very warmly.  I thought I detected deep satisfaction in his expression.  But in what?  In educating a fellow Jew?  In converting a Non-Jew?  If I had been tested, had I passed the test?  What really happened during my BUS RIDE?

I had so many questions.  I said, wait, I have all these questions left to ask.  Jack said that he was in a bit of a hurry, but that I was probably wondering what will happen to Bobby Kennedy.  He is also doomed!

How, I wondered.  Are there enough terminally ill Jews to handle all such jobs, I asked.  Oh no, I told you that Ruby was a fluke.  We don't depend on such luck.  We lucked out, and LBJ lucked out.  We normally work only with sure things, money and psychology.  Money can buy almost anything, and we currently have enough Arab and other prisoners in our jails [in Israel] being drugged and brainwashed for situations where we may need them, in both short or long term projects.  Oh, like The Manchurian Candidate thing, I asked.  Yes, exactly.  Almost everybody thinks that a person cannot be hypnotized to commit acts which he believes are immoral, and this old wives tale is our edge.  We have been very successful at this.  And, just to make sure, we usually tell them that one of their close relatives is also in one of our jails, usually a brother, preferably a twin brother.

Suddenly, Jack said good-bye and good luck, and that he has to go inside and answer the phone.  In those days there was a continuous flow of "Mr X, come to one of our white courtesy phones" announcements on loudspeakers in most airport terminals.  I never paid any attention to them, but it made perfect sense that Jack had heard himself paged.  I said good-bye and began walking to my own terminal.

I got home, and subsequently forgot all about Jack.

Weeks passed.

Then, one June morning I arrived at work, and...See Chapter 2.


Chapter 2  --  Nostradamus?  Who Me?

It had been many weeks now since my Detroit trip.  I had forgotten Jack completely.  On the morning of the 6th of June, 1968, I arrived at work as usual.  As soon as I got off the elevator George asked me if I had heard the news.  I said I hadn't.  My car radio had been shot for a while now, as it was not on my list of ten most important things for me to spend money on, while making do with a transistor radio for catching baseball games.

George was an okay guy, a young man in his early thirties, slightly older than I, and the father of four children.  He was a good enough technician, tho he had never worked on any of my projects.  I had always managed to avoid him as I considered him an awful bore.  One of those people who never has anything interesting to say, but if you said something, he would criticize the hell out of it.

What happened, I asked.

Bobby Kennedy had been shot and killed, George said.

I asked if they knew who the killer was.

He said that they had mentioned it on the radio, but he did not remember the name.

I'll bet it was something Arabic!  As soon as I had said it I realized that George had put 2 and 2 together and arrived at something like 3.9999.

The gears in George's mind had been turning.  How did Tom know that the assassin was an Arab if he hadn't been listening to the news?  And, how would he know an Arabic name from some other kind of name even if he had been listening?  Who exactly was Tom, anyhow?

For the reminder of my "career" at this company, or about eighteen months, I would often catch George observing me.  While our engineering offices were not exactly the Dilbert type cubicles, they were similar, with glass all the way up from desk level to the ceiling.  Also, we had doors which Dilbert and his colleagues would kill for.

So, while George could observe me from several offices away, he always pretended he was doing something else when I noticed him.  I considered the possibility that he would tell somebody about all this, but then I decided that he wasn't bright enough to explain it to anyone. Hell, I would have had difficulty explaining it.  I considered making fun of him, but decided I had better things to do, and to just let him struggle with the enigma of my supernatural knowledge.


Chapter 3 -- Historical Facts - Curse or Conspiracy

1963:  President John F Kennedy (JFK) was killed on Friday, 22 November 1963, at approximately 1:00pm [1300].  It happened in broad daylight.  In front of hundreds of witnesses.  Still, forty plus years later, there is no conclusive and satisfactory evidence as to exactly how it happened, why it happened, and who was behind the assassination.

1964:  Ted Kennedy (Edward Moore Kennedy), the youngest son of Joseph P Kennedy, and the youngest brother of the late JFK (born in 1932), was involved in an airplane accident.  He survived.  And, he remained politics.

1968:  Politician Robert F Kennedy (RFK), a son of Joseph P Kennedy, and a younger brother of the late JFK, was was fatally shot on Thursday, 6 June 1968, around 1:40am [0140].  Although the shooter confessed, he did not seem to know why exactly he had done it.  Some other questions remain about this incident.

At his brother Robert's funeral, Ted "coined" the phrase The Kennedy Curse.

1969:  Ted Kennedy (again), was involved in an automobile accident.  He survived, and he remained in politics, although his passenger perished.  The media concentrated on Ted's alcoholism, etc.  Why?  Could it be?  [Visualize the Church Lady on Saturday Nite Live asking this.]  To misdirect the public from noticing that this was the second time Ted had escaped a potential assassination?

1999:  John F Kennedy Jr, the son of JFK, and a grandson of Joseph P Kennedy, died in an airplane accident on 16 July 1999.

2002:  Paul Wellstone, a senator from Minnesota, together with some other people, died in a private airplane accident on 25 October 2002.  What very few people know, essentially because it was only mentioned once by a few TV networks, is that a very famous person missed this flight.  Yes, Ted Kennedy (again), and yes the youngest son of the late Joseph P Kennedy, had had a severe head cold, and had excused himself from going along on this doomed flight.  AND NOW YOU KNOW THE REST OF THE STORY.

It is possible that the above list is incomplete.  I leave it to proper historians and biographers to correct this shortcoming.

By incomplete, I mean not only additional Kennedy family members who have suffered fatal "accidents", but whether JFK and RFK themselves had also escaped previous attempts on their lives.

One question you have to ask yourself is whether all this indicates a grand pattern, ie, a conspiracy.  Or, whether it can all be explained statistically as normal for a very large family, in this case the Joseph P Kennedy Sr family, able to play with expensive toys (airplanes, autos, boats, skiing equipment, etc) which are easy to sabotage.

Another question you have to ask yourself is who is capable of making a trans-generational CURSE look very much like a CONSPIRACY.


Chapter 4  --  The Fatal Shooting Revealed

In the previous chapters of this book I have postulated a theory as to the WHO and the WHY of the of the JFK assassination.

In this chapter I shall demonstrate the HOW.

The laws of nature were not suspended on 22 November 1962.  Specifically, Newton's Laws of Motion were not suspended on that day.

There may have been more than one shot, each from a different location, but the fatal shot was from somewhere "in front" of the limousine.  Perhaps not directly in front, but at a very small angle variation from the front.

The fatal shot caused the victim's head to move backward and to his left.  This has been seen over and over again in that famous fellow's (Zebgruder?) film.  The cloud of blood traveled toward the rear of the car as did parts of the brain, which the totally shocked wife tried to gather up from the trunk lid in a moment of utter confusion.

Yes, the fatal shot came from somewhere in front of the limousine.

Never mind the other bullet(s) which impinged on the other passengers.  The fatal shot had to come from somewhere in the front.

Any marksman, indeed anyone who has ever shot a firearm at a target will tell you that the most difficult moving target is the one moving laterally, left or right and/or up or down.  And, that the easiest moving target to hit is one which is coming directly at the shooter.

When I first saw this film, one or more days after the event, I said to my engineering colleagues that the best place for the shooter to aim the fatal from was from a bridge in front of the motorcade.  A concrete wall would make a perfect place to rest the weapon on.  This theory, however, has been discredited (but not disproved).  Whether it is true or not, people have recently come forward saying that they were on the bridge -- at that time -- and they saw no such shooter.

Then there was the theory that the shooter was positioned in a sidewalk gutter opening.  This theory has also been discredited (but not disproved).

I am now postulating that the fatal shot was fired -- from the front and slightly toward the right of the moving limousine -- from a movie camera remodeled to contain a gun of some kind.

For all I know, the shooter could have stood very near this fellow Zebgruder.

Consider the following thinking on the part of the shooter hours or even days before the motorcade:  If I position myself behind the fence above the grassy knoll, I shall need a very powerful and accurate rifle, and great skill.  Moreover, the entire grassy knoll could be covered with people, shoulder to shoulder, like at the seventh game in a World Series, who might notice me.  However, if I use the gun concealed in a movie camera, I can get very close to the street, even move around a few steps for a slightly better shot, and have a relatively easy shot at the intended victim.  Then I could switch this device with a real movie camera hidden in my clothing, and wave it about, in the rare, yet very possible event that the police would confiscate all cameras in the immediate area in order to inspect the films in them.  If ever confronted why the film in my camera did not have anything worthwhile on it, hey, I ran out of film while the limousine was still far away.   In any case, I can simply walk away and disappear.



Since writing THE BUS RIDE in 2003, I have received some interesting questions, some positive feedback, and some negative feedback including death threats.

Ultra-Right-Wing White Racists have accused me of being a Jew who is simply bragging how smart, rich and powerful Jews are. Smart, as when it took a peasant outcast (Joseph) to teach the Pharaoh of the most advanced country in the world (Ancient Egypt) how to operate an agrarian economy. Rich and powerful, as when the Jews caused Henry Ford, the richest man in USA, not only to fold up his Michigan newspaper, THE DEARBORN INDEPENDENT in 1929, but also to publish a copious apology to the Jews. Well, I am not a Jew.

Jews have accused me of being a German and a Jew hater. Well, I am not a German. And, considering that Jews always claim to be hated because they are somehow "different", I do not hate people because they are different. Most people dont. People dont hate Eskimos, Maoris, Samoans, Scots, San Blas Cuna Indians, etc, because they are different. If Jews are hated then it has to be for reasons other than merely being different.

Some have wondered about my theory about a gun hidden in a movie camera. Look, it is the gun that has to be a precision instrument of high accuracy. The camera can be a crude thing, like a Hollywood studio backdrop, as it will be switched with a real one, seconds after the shooting, providing the shooter wears some kind of lengthy coat or baggy pants. After a few seconds, he will disappear into the confused crowd.

Some people have tried to argue about the number of gunshot sounds. Well, there is no use arguing here. Any assassination team worth its salt would have had a number of high powered rifles WITH SILENCERS stationed all along the route.

The motivation of the assassination has generated the most confusion. Why would Jews conspire to kill JFK? Process of elimination. Political and criminal elements around the world know that under the American political system a death of a leader begets an immediate replacement. And, the replacement might be even more against their interests. This leaves a random psycho, or RELIGIOUS ZEALOTRY.

A lone psycho shooting from behind, and working alone, could not have made JFKs head go toward the back and toward the left [JFKs left], no matter how many liars try to prove the suspension of physical laws.  And, two or more shooters constitute a conspiracy.

This leaves people who hated JFKs father, and made him pay for the negative things he had said about Jews, and/or positive things he said about Hitler. Unless, of course, the Jew on THE BUS TRIP was full of excrement. In any case, the matter could remain open forever unless closed up tight. This is where Jacob Rubinstein, better known as Jack Ruby came in. He is positively the person who killed Lee Harvey Oswald.

While on his deathbed, terminally ill with cancer, Jack Ruby said: "I am the only one who knows the truth about the JFK assassination, and I shall take this secret to the grave with me."

So far, he has kept his deathbed promise.         *************

Update 2014      Recently I happened to be at a party which included a pool table.  As I was walking by, the shooter was positioning the cue ball such that it, the target ball and the hole were lned up perfectly.  One of the easiest situations possible.  The shooter made it easily.  At that moment I had a vision which was curiously familiar.  Trying to ignore the people around me, I managed to remember a day in Dallas, so long ago.  In the much replayed film by Avraham Zebgruder, "everything" was similarly perfectly lined up.  Think outside the box for a moment.  The fatal shot did not have to be an extremely difficult one from some Grassy Knoll.  It could have come from an extrmely accurate firearm, disguised as a camera, from someone standing very, very close to Zebgruder.  Possibly someone standing to the left and slightly behind the famous filmmaker.