Taking out the Garbage

By Robert Clayton Buick

The front cover of this book depicts the true and fatal wounds to President
John F. Kennedy that was never revealed by the Warren Commission or by the
official autopsy report. Instead, the United States Government and high ranking
government officials responsible for the assassination of President Kennedy
covered up the truth in an attempt to hide the coup de tat assassination.
This is the story of Jimmy Sutton the Mafia Grassy Knoll Shooter who fired
the fatal shot to the right temple of President Kennedy ordered and carried
out by Organized Crime. Lee Harvey Oswald never fired a shot at President
Kennedy. The author Robert Clayton Buick who was aware of the plot prior to
the assassination of President Kennedy pulls no punches as he clarifies and
substantiates every element of the hit on the President of the United States,
the crime of the century for financial gain, political power and vengeance. This
is a nonfictional and true depiction of what really happened that fateful day in
Dallas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450002301

Robert Clayton Buick

ROBERT CLAYTON BUICK is described as a Soldier of Fortune and the most successful American bullfighter of his time, in Mexico, Central and South America. The writers, aficionados and bullfight critics called him El Ciclon del Norte, translated: The Cyclone from the North. Buick was fearless in the bullring, while adorning his style with spinning and floral passes, always in close proximity to the bulls horns, thrilling the thousands of people who came to see him perform in his spectacular style.

Book preview

Copyright © 2010 by Robert Clayton Buick.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2009912649

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4500-0678-1

ISBN:   Softcover   978-1-4500-0677-4

ISBN:   E-Book   978-1-4500-0230-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

The Beginning to an End

The Fateful Encounter

The Dictabelt

An Ironic Event

The Official Record

How It Really Came Down

The Killer of a President

Taking out the Garbage

Who is Jimmy Sutton

What and Where is He Now

The Here and the Now

When one fails in his honor

And breaks a conventional law

We never look for the good in his lifetime

And always look for the flaw

Ignoring all the battles he has fought

He becomes food for the jackals

By the people who has never been caught

—The Author

Introduction

Throughout these past forty-six years, there have been millions of words written about that fateful day, November 22, 1963, in Dallas, Texas. The thirty-fifth president of the United States was brutally shot and murdered while proceeding in his presidential motorcade in the streets of Dallas.

Many opinions about what happened have been volunteered throughout the passage of time. The official determination is that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone in the assassination of John Kennedy, yet 78 percent of the American people and the world do not agree with that official version of the Kennedy assassination by the Warren Commission, a commission that was formulated by the factions that were (ultimately) responsible for the conspiracy to kill a sitting president.

Not one official determination, or book claiming that Oswald acted alone, has placed Oswald in that sixth-floor sniper’s nest at the time the president was shot and killed. In all, the millions of words written about that event and the hundreds of thousands of pages published have not convinced the public at large that Oswald was solely responsible for the death of President Kennedy

Previously, the author—Robert Clayton Buick—in less than a dozen pages and 4,200 words, has taken Lee Harvey Oswald out of the sniper’s nest and has placed him at the length of the Book Depository Building, four floors below the sniper’s nest area and several hundred lineal feet away from that location at the time President Kennedy was shot and killed. This is documented by official forensic evidence, the basic law of physics, several (unbiased) eyewitnesses, and common sense. The conclusion stipulates to the fact that Oswald did not assassinate the president of the United States nor did he murder Officer J. D. Tippit of the Dallas Police.

At 12:14 p.m., sixteen minutes prior to when the Kennedy motorcade was to pass by the Book Depository Building and through Dealey Plaza, Lee Harvey Oswald was eating lunch in the employees’ recreation room on the first floor of that building. Some fifteen minutes later, Oswald entered the second-floor lunchroom of that building to place a coin into the soft drink dispensary machine. At 12:30 p.m., when the murderous shots rang out in Dealey Plaza, hundreds of feet away, Lee Harvey Oswald stood leaning against the wall of that lunchroom with a can of Coca-Cola in his hand.

One-half hour prior to that event, Malcolm Mac Wallace had driven up to the rear of the Book Depository Building and entered that building and ascended to the sniper’s nest, located at the far end of the sixth floor. Wallace touched the carton boxes used to hide the rifle that Oswald had left for him earlier that morning, with a clip of live ammunition. Mac Wallace then sat silently waiting for the presidential motorcade to arrive in Dealey Plaza, not realizing that he had left his fingerprints on the carton boxes used to conceal the weapon he used to wound President Kennedy and Governor John Connally.

Some ten minutes after Wallace had entered Book Depository Building, Johnny Roselli and Chuck Nicoletti, with the help of Eugene Hale Brading, entered the front door of the Dal-Tex Building located in Dealey Plaza and went to the utility and storage room located at the far corner of the second floor, facing Dealey Plaza. Nicoletti carried a 30.6-caliber hunting rifle (with scope) under his long-length raincoat and into his armpit as a crutch.

At that same moment in time, Jimmy Sutton (alias James E. Files) left the Dal-Tex parking lot, crossing through the railroad yard and onto the grassy knoll area of Dealey Plaza. For the following twenty minutes, Sutton waited patiently for the Kennedy motorcade to arrive in Dealey Plaza at a crawling pace when and where he would shoot the president of the United States in the right temple, killing him instantly.

The following is a true description of the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the thirty-fifth president of the United States, by high-ranking officials of the United States government and the National Crime Syndicate that the Kennedy family broke its agreement with.

The Beginning to an End

In the late ’50s, I frequented the bullfights in Tijuana, Mexico, and I became fascinated by the pageantry and dangers of the art of La Fiesta Brava.

My intentions were to write about it and to convince the general public that it was not a brutal sport, but a form of art, teaming man against one of the most powerful and ferocious animals on planet Earth, where man performs his artful skills, without armor or firearms in a ballet of death in the afternoon.

As I attempted to write about the art of bullfighting, I began to realize that my (limited) knowledge was insufficient to accomplish my goal to convey the intimate description of what (really) takes place out there on the sand between the torero and the fighting bull. The only way to accomplish this desire and knowledge was to experience such by virtue of becoming a torero.

After researching the when and where I could learn and experience this desired profession, the Yucatán Peninsula was the place, and Mérida was the place to begin.

Throughout the Yucatán Peninsula, each city, town, village, and province holds their annual event in celebration and reverence of its patron saints. A weeklong celebration of festivities with the inclusion of three to five corridas (bullfights) are held.

If you were to make a comparison, as in professional baseball and its various leagues, Yucatán would rank as the minor league of the corridas, and the opportunities for experience were plentiful.

With that in mind, I packed up my brand-new white Chevy Impala convertible and headed out from Los Angeles to Mérida, over three thousand miles of two-lane roads (an experience unto its own); narrow bridges, where only one vehicle could pass over and no yield warning signs to establish that fact, with cattle and horses that graze at roadsides and that cross over or sun themselves on the warm asphalt when they desire to do so. The count of how many times the white torpedo (Chevy Impala) would spin out in an adjacent Mexican pasture, evading the natural hazards, are too many to readily calculate.

Within two years, I became a regional phenomenon earning $400 a week, a radical change from earning $58 a week in the steel mill to six times that amount doing what I enjoyed.

My trainer and friend was a well-liked and respected torero of Chinese descent, Felipe Chiu, who was a master at teaching and mentoring. His acute awareness of why the bull did this or that was extraordinary and