False Witness (29 page)

‡
Clay Shaw and the CIA are discussed further in chapter 14.

*
Alcock dwelt on Spiesel's French Quarter tour and the building Spiesel selected at 906 Esplanade that Shaw owned in the 1950s. Shaw also once owned the building next door.

†
Alcock was suggesting that this “error” with Oswald's name showed a link between Shaw and Oswald. But in the earliest reference to the application, an official at the hospital said the name allegedly on it was “L. Harvey Oswald” (Guy Broyles, interview with Andrew Sciambra, Jan. 23, 1968).

*
As noted earlier, Eugene Davis admitted to James Alcock in a 1967 telephone call that he
had
called Andrews while he was in the hospital (Bethell Diary, pp. 1, 10).

*
None of her degrees had included handwriting analysis classes; she studied the subject under what she termed an “authority” in the field, and a chemist.

*
Richard Randolph Carr, Mr. and Mrs. Newman, and Roger Craig.

*
Shaw was outraged and wounded that the business community he had served for nineteen years financed Garrison's case against him.

†
Shaw believed Garrison always feared he would be sued, which is why he used the extraordinary three-step trial procedure—bill of information, preliminary hearing, and grand jury indictment. He did it so he could argue, Shaw wrote, “that he was only doing his duty in trying me” (Shaw Narrative, p. 2).

*
Garrison most likely was referring to Reverend Clyde Johnson, known as “Slidin' Clyde,” due to his slipperiness, a part-time backwoods preacher well known to law enforcement in several states. Johnson's bizarre story of meeting with Shaw and Jack Ruby in a Baton Rouge hotel where money changed hands was actually mentioned by James Alcock when he described, to the first panel of prospective jurors, the six overt acts the state would prove. But it was never mentioned again.

†
For the first time, Garrison referred to Ferrie saying that on this trip he planned “to go duck hunting,” which Oliver Stone would later showcase in his film. Ferrie never mentioned this duck-hunting notion (which is unequivocally disputed by Alvin Beaubouef, one of Ferrie's companions that weekend) during his multiple interviews in 1963. It first surfaced in 1966, when Ferrie was interviewed by Asst. D.A. John Volz; Ferrie also mentioned it, the night he died, to George Lardner. Why Ferrie invented this duck story is unclear. Perhaps he thought “hunting” sounded more manly than “ice skating.”

*
This charge is discussed in chapter 16.

On January 26, 1971, Clay Shaw's attorneys finally turned the tables on Jim Garrison, casting him as the defendant in a bold new lawsuit they had filed eight days earlier in the U.S. District Court in New Orleans. They had asked the court to invoke its equity powers and stop Garrison from prosecuting the perjury charges. The court was holding a hearing on their motion. Over the past four years, Garrison had wielded the most feared legal power in Louisiana. But now he was forced to take the witness stand and explain his actions. As one observer noted, the hunter had become the hunted. Ten witnesses had already testified. It was the morning of the second day when Garrison's name was called in the federal courtroom of Judge Herbert W. Christenberry.

Garrison had been hospitalized with a back ailment and one reporter described him as appearing “drawn and stooped,” with the back brace he was wearing visibly pushing against the fabric of his coat. But most striking was what appeared to be the disordered condition of Garrison's mind. Questioned by William Wegmann for more than two hours, Garrison made statements that were glaringly erroneous. Others were self-serving. Most were both. To Wegmann's more sensitive questions Garrison stated he didn't recall, or he simply refused to answer, claiming privileged information under Louisiana's Public Records Act.
Asked when Shaw first became a suspect, Garrison said Shaw was questioned three times and it was after the second that he fell under suspicion. “There was something about his answers which did not completely correspond and did not completely fit,” Garrison said, “and it was after that that he became a suspect, and he was never again called for questioning without a lawyer.” None of that was true.
*

Garrison testified that Perry Russo was hypnotized only once. (He was hypnotized at least three times.)
¹
When Edward O'Donnell's report on Russo came up, Garrison said he doubted the accuracy of polygraphs. (He used them widely.) He declared that press releases and press conferences were
rare
for him. (He engaged in both frequently.) He claimed he had recommended against putting the troubled bookkeeper, Charles Spiesel, on the witness stand, but “always let the assistants handle the trial.”
²
(Using Spiesel was Garrison's decision.)
^†
He acknowledged accusing the CIA of taking part in Kennedy's assassination but he denied claiming that the FBI, the Justice Department, the Dallas Police, or “oil-rich Texas millionaires” had been involved. (He accused the first two of covering up and the others of outright participation.)

The strangest assertion Garrison made concerned David Ferrie, whose death triggered the events that prompted Shaw's arrest six days later. Garrison claimed that Ferrie
was still alive
when Shaw was indicted. “David Ferrie was alive,” repeated an incredulous William Wegmann, “when Shaw was indicted?” “Yes,” Garrison said. “As a matter of fact, he was not only alive, but we were considering indicting him shortly before his death, and this followed Shaw, so he would have been alive.”
³
So demonstrably untrue is this that the natural assumption is that Garrison was merely mistaken. But something more complex seems to have been going on here. Garrison's mind appeared to be rearranging reality to suit his needs at any given moment. As William Wegmann bored in, Garrison's recollections seemed designed to avoid
any and all embarrassing admissions. The remarkable number and nature of Garrison's mistakes that day give rise to thoughts about neurological disorders or deep-seated psychological pathology.

When asked what witnesses he had against Shaw prior to arresting him, Garrison refused to answer, saying it was a policy decision and to answer would be violating his oath of office. Judge Christenberry rejected that but said he would not force Garrison to respond. James Alcock had testified the day before that there had been only one witness, Perry Russo. In the absence of contrary information from Garrison, Christenberry said, Alcock's answer would stand. One witness only. Finally the basis of Shaw's arrest was unequivocally and publicly established.

Garrison's repeated claims of privilege eventually provoked a sharp rebuke from the judge. It came after Wegmann inquired about the Vernon Bundy conference held in Garrison's office during the preliminary hearing. Had not Garrison said, “ ‘We did not tell [Bundy] to lie; put him on the stand' or words to that effect?” Wegmann asked. In his reply Garrison said, “I have an obligation to the people of New Orleans to protect my office from fishing expeditions. I refuse to answer the question.” Judge Christenberry was not pleased. “You may think it is a fishing expedition,” he said, “but this hearing was ordered by a panel of Judges of the Fifth Circuit Court, and I am carrying out their order in holding this hearing. That applies to the entire hearing, regardless of who the witness is. If you don't want to answer, I am not going to insist, but there are other witnesses from whose testimony I will be able to make a judgment in this case.”
⁴
*

Christenberry later asked Garrison if anything came out of the investigation and the money that was spent “except the prosecution of Mr. Shaw.” Garrison said it had but didn't elaborate. Christenberry persisted, inquiring if “any report [had] been made or any book been written detailing the investigation.” Garrison replied that it was “in the making.” The information gathered was “so voluminous” that the project “still lies ahead,” but “in due course,” he said, a “public report” would be made “to the citizens of New Orleans.”
⁵
(It was never forthcoming.)

Wegmann turned to the editorials that appeared in the two New
Orleans newspapers on March 1 and 2, 1969, following Shaw's acquittal, which called for Garrison to resign. Garrison denied that the editorials influenced his decision to file the perjury charges on March 3. He didn't leave it at that, though. He said he had “a warm feeling for those people over at the
States-Item
and the
Times-Picayune
.” If they disagreed with him “in one particular case or another,” that was “just one of those things that happens to a man in politics.” But the Shaw trial wasn't just “another” case, and “those people” at the newspapers weren't just
disagreeing
. They were trying to run him out of office and he was infuriated by it. Garrison's pretense of sentiment toward Clay Shaw was even more implausible. “I cannot emphasize too strongly that no one would be happier than I to see Clay Shaw acquitted,” Garrison said, “if that is the way the evidence develops at the trial.”
⁶
No one was fooled by any of this, least of all the judge.

Herbert W. Christenberry, who would turn out to be Garrison's judicial Waterloo and Shaw's savior, was tall and heavyset, with a florid Irish face and prominent chin. He possessed a booming voice and hearty laugh, frequently heard, and was no stranger to idiosyncratic politics. His brother had served as Huey Long's secretary.
*
Appointed to the federal bench in 1947 by Harry Truman and like Truman in time transcending machine politics, Christenberry was a tough and forthright no-nonsense jurist, with a reputation, as Cynthia Wegmann, Edward Wegmann's daughter, recently said, for “smelling a liar.” A local reporter described him as “liberal, out of step, with a good sense for the little guy.” Over the years, Christenberry handed down a number of important, and regionally unpopular, civil rights decisions, beginning in 1948 when he ruled it was unconstitutional to pay black teachers less than white teachers.
^†
Given his background and character, Christenberry seems, in retrospect, the perfect jurist for the job he was handed.

That job began the day Shaw's attorneys made their last-ditch plea to federal court and it landed on Christenberry's docket. Their request was unusual, for federal courts rarely intervene in ongoing state cases, and are barred from doing so by federal statute, except in certain “special circumstances.” Edward Wegmann, the only attorney on Shaw's team whose practice was limited to civil law, conceived this creative strategy. He also penned the twenty-four-page complaint.

That document, infused with Edward Wegmann's indignation, smoldering since Shaw's arrest, asserted in part that Garrison, acting in “bad faith,” had misused and abused his powers, particularly “in the prosecution of innocent citizens,” including Shaw. That he had conspired with members of Truth and Consequences “to accomplish his illegal purposes” and “harassed and intimidated” Shaw and others who incurred “his wrath.” That he had engaged in an “illegal and useless” investigation of the assassination for “his own personal aggrandizement.” Used the criminal courts of New Orleans “as a forum for his activities and as a shield” against those who disagreed. Unlawfully prosecuted Shaw for no “legitimate purposes.” Published a book that gave him “a financial interest” in Shaw's continued prosecution. “Created an atmosphere of fear and terror in the community.” And violated Shaw's rights to free speech, due process, and equal protection under the constitution. The longstanding allegations of wrongdoing by Garrison at long last had been expressed in a court of law.

But Judge Christenberry first rejected the plea, partly because the perjury trial was so imminent. Shaw's attorneys then appealed and won. That set the stage for the defining moment of this case, Judge Christenberry and his hearing, when all the chickens came home to roost. For some reason, this remarkable three-day proceeding has been virtually overlooked. Students of the case often have never heard of it. Even the transcript at first seemed to be unavailable. I traced it to a branch of the National Archives in Fort Worth, Texas, and in 1995 obtained a copy.

Shaw's attorneys called seventeen witnesses. Garrison's representatives, Asst. D.A.s John Volz, William Alford, Andrew Sciambra, and Numa Bertel, called none, claiming they felt no need. Irvin Dymond explained
to this writer why he thought Garrison mounted no defense. “They couldn't find anyone who wasn't afraid to lie,” Dymond said. “They were afraid that Christenberry would examine any witness very closely and cause them to be charged with perjury.”
⁷
No longer on Garrison's turf, the rules of engagement had shifted dramatically. In the one-sided contest that ensued, in addition to Garrison himself, three of his closest aides and the trio that founded Truth and Consequences underwent merciless interrogation by Shaw's team. Even Judge Malcolm O'Hara was compelled to defend his decision to go forward with the perjury case.

Emotions ran high from the outset. The tone was set during arguments on Garrison's motion to dismiss, which charged Shaw's attorneys with “trickery.” Garrison's men exhibited an attitude of outraged victimization that persisted from then on. When Judge Christenberry remarked that their “trickery” charge was “unfortunate,” William Alford fervently defended Garrison and charged that Shaw's attorneys had violated “the very things the [legal] profession stands for.” “I suggest you control yourself, counsel,” Christenberry said, “you don't have to yell.” Alford continued, though, and Christenberry told him to “sit down.” But he stayed on his feet. “Didn't you hear me?” Christenberry said, “have a seat.”