I Was a VIP on 11/22/63

By Ph.D. and Diane Holloway Cheney

This novel is a suspenseful story of a presidential assassin based on real life events. We follow the assassin through his diary, letters, radio shows, and descriptions of his actions. Readers can peer into the mind of this assassin and see how he tries to fulfill his goals, despite numerous blockades. The novel is interspersed with extracts from real world leaders adding an opportunity to know more about the thinking of many other people as they discussed real momentous events in the novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Nov 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781662906183

Book preview

novel.

I Made a Plan to Be a Loner

IWAS BORN OCTOBER 18, 1939, in New Orleans, Louisiana. My father, an insurance salesman, died two months before my birth. Mom had three boys. My step-brother, Johnny, was by her first husband and Bob and I were by my father.

After Dad died, Mom had to work. She tried to put all of us in an orphanage. I heard they would not take me until I was three years old, so she just entered my older brothers. When I turned three, she placed me there with Johnny and Bob for 13 months. Then she took me out to live with her and the man she was about to marry. After that short marriage, she kept me and often took me out on her sales appointments since she couldn’t afford a baby-sitter.

In school, I tried to get attention by telling kids what to do, fighting and clowning around. When I was six, I got in a fight with a boy who threw a rock at me, cutting my left eye. Mom took me to a hospital where they stitched me up. I would revisit that same hospital 18 years later when I died.

Mom got divorced so we moved to Fort Worth when I was seven and in the second grade. The following year in 1947, my brother, Bob, took a picture of me with a cap pistol wearing his military academy hat. I really looked up to him and loved his uniform.

When I was 11, Mom made me write notes to my step-brother, Johnny, in the Coast Guard, because she wanted money. I wrote postcards to him with stuff like this, but I never could spell very well:

Dear Johnny, Would you send a letter teeling all about yourself and icebergs and things like that? Will you send me $1.50? Leigh. P.S. Send me some sougniers [souvenirs].

August 28, 1950. Dear Johnny, All I have to say is get me some ($1.50) money. P.S. I want $1.50. Leigh.

December, 1950. Dear Johnny, I sure am sorry that you can’t come home for Christmas. I’m sending you this fruit cake. Mary Christmas from Leigh.

Between ages 11 and 12, I was a discipline problem. I made myself breakfast, lunch, went to school, and came home to an empty house because Mom worked long hours. I watched TV shows like I Led Three Lives about Herb Philbrick who infiltrated the U.S. Communist Party for the FBI. I began to skip school. Mom decided we should move to New York City in 1953 to live with Johnny and his wife. I guess Johnny was supposed to help me control my behavior.

The one thing we can’t control is who our parents are. I was dealt a hand and was stuck with it. Mom had tried to make it with several men but there was just something about her that they disliked. I wanted to tell her, Mom, you screwed up your life. Now back off and give me a chance to screw up mine.

When I was 13, I was truant from school and often went to the zoo. I was wandering through Central Park one day when I was given a pro-communist pamphlet appealing for clemency for Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, being tried for conspiracy against the U.S. The appeal didn’t work so they were executed June 19, 1953.

I fought with Johnny’s wife over the television programs I wanted to watch. She didn’t want to see shows I liked. I got so angry I pulled out a pocket knife and threatened to hurt her if she got in my way. When Johnny came home and heard what happened, he asked Mom to move us out and leave them alone.

In our own apartment, Mom kept working and leaving me alone. A truancy officer found me outside of school one day. I was put on probation. When my probation officer told the court that I had missed 46 days and 8 half days, they requested a psychological evaluation at a treatment center. I had to stay in there for three weeks. They recommended treatment for me and counseling for Mom. Well, I figured the goal of therapy was to find out who you really are and change that. So, it was okay with me to skip it.

Among many reports about me was that I scoffed at the American flag, and refused to stand and pledge allegiance with the other students. One report about me said:

Leigh has constituted a problem here of late. He is a non-participant in any activity on the floor. He has made no attempts at developing a relationship with any member of the group, and at the same time, not given anyone an opportunity to become acquainted with him. He appears content just to sit and read whatever is available. He has reacted favorably to supervision; and does what is asked of him without comment. There appears to be nothing on the floor of interest to him. Each evening at 8:00 PM he asks to be allowed to go to bed. Members of the group appear to respect his seclusiveness. Perhaps this boy should have a talk with his case worker. Perhaps he will become more communicative from this point.

A psychiatrist summarized his report on me by stating:

This 13-year-old well-built boy has superior mental resources and functions only slightly below his capacity level in spite of chronic truancy from school which brought him into our center. No finding of neurological impairment or psychotic mental changes could be made. Leigh has to be diagnosed as personality pattern disturbance with schizoid and passive-aggressive tendencies. Leigh has to be seen as an emotionally, quite disturbed youngster who suffers under the impact of real emotional isolation and deprivation, lack of affection, absence of family life and rejection by a self-involved and conflicted mother.

The psychiatrist recommended I be placed on probation and that I seek help and guidance through a child guidance clinic. He suggested I be treated by a male psychiatrist who could substitute for the lack of a father figure. He also recommended that mother seek psychotherapeutic guidance through contact with a family agency. The possibility of my commitment was to be considered only if the probation plan was not successful.

I think I scared the lady who was talking to me—the social worker—when I said this: Every once in a while I have to say ‘What the fuck!’ That gives me freedom and that brings me opportunities or chances to make a future for myself. There’s no normal life for me, there’s just life!

My withdrawal was also noted by that lady when I said, There are no perfect families. It’s normal for things to be shitty.

She wrote that I was a seriously detached, withdrawn youngster. She noted that there was a rather pleasant, appealing quality about this emotionally starved, affectionless youngster which grows as one speaks to him. She thought that I had detached myself from the world around me because no one in it ever met any of his needs for love.

Way back in my head was the thought that once I was out there, I’d do my own thing and be really great, if I didn’t screw up.

I sometimes talked with a kid and just said things he didn’t like. I said I’ve got three rules. One is that shit happens. Two is that shit happens on a regular basis. And three is that you better get used to rule one and two.

The evaluation people talked about my only parent—Mom. What is it that makes somebody a good parent? Did she ever listen to me? Did she ever even pretend to listen to me? She now makes up crazy lies about me. She wants me to be some VIP which would make her special, too.

Those counselors made me think that inside every bad kid is a good kid waiting for someone to reach down into the slime, pick him up, and hose him off. That case worker tried to do so. But people don’t change overnight. They just take a few steps in the right direction now and then.

One counselor observed that since Mom worked all day, I made my own meals and spent time alone because I didn’t make friends with other kids. She wrote that I withdrew into a completely solitary and detached existence, did as he wanted and didn’t have to live by any rules or come into contact with people.

She concluded, "Leigh just felt that his mother never gave a damn for him. He always felt like a burden that she simply just had to tolerate. Leigh confirmed some of those observations by saying that he felt almost as if there were a veil between him and other people through which they could not reach him, but he preferred the veil to remain intact. Leigh admitted to fantasies about being powerful and sometimes hurting and killing people, but refused to elaborate on them and said such matters were his own business.

Sure, thoughts about hurting or killing someone and becoming more powerful probably occur to lots of folks. But what kind of nut would tell those ideas to a bunch of shrinks?

In reading, which was my favorite pastime, many people seemed like the kind of person who might be my perfect victim. Those were my secrets and I loved to plan things to help me and pay others back for short-changing me in my life. It was such fun making my secret plans about how to be more important.

For example, here’s a guy who might be my victim. He would be a successful older guy who came from a rich family unlike anything in my life. But he would have a flaw like he was not real healthy whereas I was. Or he liked the women so much that it got him in trouble. Or he had bad parenting and learned to copy his dad’s bad habits or even his mom’s. In fact, his mom might not be around much kind of like my mom. I’d be jealous of a guy like that who became successful. I’d love to make him pay for having a better life than he deserved when I deserved a better life but didn’t get one.

Well, back to that evaluation of me and their conclusions. I scored an IQ of 118 classified as bright average, was released, and returned to school. My probation officer reported me being disruptive, refusing to salute the flag, and telling him that I did not like teachers, school, or the children in school. I told him, I like myself.

I Made a Plan to Join

the Military Like

My Older Brothers

ITOLD MY PROBATION officer I would like to go into the service when I was 18, since I had two brothers in the military.

The psychiatrist concluded his report:

We arrive therefore at the recommendation that he should be placed on probation under the condition that he seek help and guidance through contact with a child guidance clinic. At the same time, his mother should be urged to seek psychotherapeutic guidance through contact with a family agency . . . The Big Brother Movement could be undoubtedly of tremendous value in this case and Leigh should be urged to join organized group activities in his community, such as provided by the PAL (Police Athletic League) or YMCA.

Mother never took me to those agencies or appointments. She thought I was doing well. I told her I was elected class president. But, of course, my probation officer got reports from my school and on October 21, 1953, stated that my conduct was unsatisfactory. Mother wasn’t about to follow those recommendations or spend any more time on me. She told my probation officer that she could not attend a meeting he requested because she had to move away from the city.

We moved to New Orleans in January of 1954. She had a sister there so we stayed with my aunt and her husband. I got a job as a shoe store clerk but people teased me about my New York accent. After I finished the ninth grade, I decided school had nothing to offer me. I read, walked, visited museums, and sometimes rode a bicycle.

Sometimes I got into fights. One was when white boys beat me up for sitting in the Negro section of a bus, which I probably did out of ignorance. Edward, a friend took me back to the school nurse when the guys hit my lip and loosened a tooth.

I criticized authorities openly and was called a bad influence on kids. My contempt for others showed in a note I wrote in a ninth-grade boy’s autograph book in 1954:

Roses are red, violites are blue, people like you, should be in a zoo. Leigh.

On June 2, 1955, I completed a New Orleans Personal History form for the tenth grade. In a question about friends, I listed nobody. I listed myself as Lutheran even though Mom and I never attended church.

I wrote that I was 135 lbs., 5’5, that mother was a store manager, and that I worked selling shoes for ten weeks under M. Goodman. I wrote that I liked civics, science, and math but disliked English and art. My vocational choices were biology and mechanical drawing. Under health, I noted an abnormal eardrum on the left. I wrote that after high school, my plan was military service and undecided."

About this time, I told my only friend, Edward, that I wanted to steal a gun I had seen in a store. I planned to cut the glass in the window to steal the pistol. Edward warned me that it might trigger an alarm so I never attempted to steal the gun. Who wants to get caught by police?

On October 7, 1955, I was so tired of school that I forged Mom’s name on a note to obtain papers to apply for the Marine Corps. They needed my birth certificate so I wrote this note to the school authorities:

To whom it may concern:

Because we are moving to San Diego in the middle of this month, Leigh must quite school now. Also, please send by him any papers such as his birth certificate that you may have.

Thank you, sincerely.

I left school October 10, 1955, and tried to enlist in the Marines. When my true age was discovered, I was told to wait until I was 17. I begged mother to lie about my age, which she had done with Johnny. She spoke to a lawyer but he refused to cooperate in subterfuge for me.

I wanted to imitate Bob, a Marine sergeant. We two went hunting from time to time on visits. I joined the Civil Air Patrol (CAP) in New Orleans for a few meetings to follow in his footsteps with my uniform, learning the shapes of planes, learning plane spotting, etc. However, a new interest in communism and socialism was taking much of my reading time and I soon stopped attending the CAP.

I felt so fit and strong. Even though I was too young for the military, I couldn’t wait to get into it. It would build me up. I wasn’t like those kids who got drafted and weren’t in good shape.

In comparing myself to other guys, I wasn’t all that tall so lies about my height always seemed to help. But nobody had to send me to any place to get healthier and stronger. I read about some guys who were sent to Arizona or places with a good climate and put into training programs to make men of them. Not me.

A guy who might be my victim would be a guy who was too wimpy and couldn’t handle the military. I’d want to get rid of somebody who faked it and tried to look stronger than they were. In the military, everybody depends on each other to stay alive. You don’t want your life to depend on any weakling.

Mom and I moved back to Fort Worth, Texas, on July 1, 1956, to be near Bob. I studied his Marine Corps manual and entered high school in September, 1956. As I neared 17, I dropped out of school to join the Marines. I also wanted to escape mother, just as my two brothers had done.

School mates heard me criticize president Eisenhower, capitalism and American ideals. I said There is no democracy in America. There is only IBM and other big companies. They are the nations of our world. I told some of my search for a communist group to join which annoyed them and teachers. Probably, the only males I could look up to were my brothers.

I wrote the following letter to the American Socialist Party three weeks before entering the United States Marine Corps (USMC), a very special branch of the Navy.

Dear Sirs,

I am sixteen years of age and would like more information about your youth League. I would like to know if there is a branch in my area, how to join, etc. I’m a Marxist, and have been studying socialist principles for well over fifteen months, and am very interested in your YPSL [Young Peoples Socialist League].

Sincerely.

On October 24, 1956, I completed a USMC medical history form and wrote of my running ears and mastoid surgery in 1945. I wrote that my usual occupation was student and designated mother as my beneficiary.

Forms and measurements showed my height at 5’9" but sometimes some exaggerations crept into my self-descriptions and writings.

I entered the service October 26, 1956, and was trained as an aviation electronic operator. I served in San Diego, Camp Pendleton, California; NATTC, Jacksonville, Florida; Kessler Air Force Base, Mississippi; and Fleet Marines overseas in the Pacific and El Toro, California.

To be honest, I resented Marine authorities and disliked being told what to do, and being evaluated by others. I violated rules, bought an unauthorized gun, and nobody knew it until the day I dropped it and accidentally shot myself in the elbow. Then they assigned me to three months of kitchen police (KP) duty.

My Marine authorities were kind of like General Patton. They thought if you can’t get them to salute when they should, and wear the clothes you tell them to wear, how are you going to get them to die for their country? Really, the Marine Corps was some guy you don’t know telling you to go kill some other guy you don’t know.

After serving a tour of duty in the Philippines and one in Japan, I wanted to go back to Japan because my girlfriend was really small and cute, and people treated us well there.

Yep, a guy in a uniform gets the girls. It was great to attract just the right kind of girl. Dating was more fun for me when I was built up and looked handsome in my outfit. It wasn’t as good when they played hard to get, but since I was bigger than the little Asian gals and the guys they often dated, I could often get my way.

I argued about that tour of duty with my sergeant in a bar. I spilled a drink on him and can’t remember if it was done on purpose or accidentally. But then, drunk me invited him outside for a fist fight. Pretty stupid. For this and possession of my earlier mentioned unauthorized weapon, my two courts martial resulted in a demotion from E-3 to E-2, and a month in the brig. My brothers hadn’t drilled it into me that I can’t run the show. These other dumb guys run the show.

On October 4, 1957, the first satellite, Sputnik, was launched by the Russians. The world was shocked because they thought the U.S. was way ahead of Russia in technology.

Soon Fidel Castro overturned the corrupt regime in Cuba, and received recognition and support. He became a VIP by joining with Russia, taking over Cuba, and protecting peasants from selfish millionaires.

Sure, we in America have all been raised by television to believe that one day we’ll be millionaires but we won’t. We’ve learned that fact and we’re very, very pissed off at those with lots of money to throw around.

It seemed like whatever boss tried to tell us what to do, I wanted to argue with him. It wasn’t a father thing, because there never was a father for me to argue with. It was like I wanted to use my own mind to solve my problems and didn’t want others telling me what to do.

Even though my ideal victim one day might be a guy who felt the same way about people trying to tell him what to do—like a father or a general or a boss—I would have liked that about him but I would have opposed him in the same way he would have opposed me. Men were always a contest for me—a battle to be won.

And if I’d had somebody commanding me who didn’t seem to know what he was doing, you can be sure I’d have made an issue out of it and done everything possible to knock him down from his high cocked military hat.

I read some more about that guy who wrote a book his daddy got published. It was just a school thesis. But his daddy asked a famous journalist to rewrite it and get him an agent. Then his daddy asked the man who started some magazines to write a forward for the book. Too bad all writers like me and others don’t have that kind of help.

The same guy wrote another book later about some men who showed courage. I’ve got to find that at a library one of these days. I wonder if he really knows anything about courage.

I’d have been mad at that guy for being a cheater,