PREFACE


Few men in history have understood democracy better than Benjamin Franklin. Even before we became a nation knew how we would end: A nation whose leaders would be chosen in elections that would become little more than beauty contests, [I like to think of the 2008 election as a contest between Uncle Fuddy-Duddy and the Cheer Leader vs. Batman and the Joker,] while those out to screw the system climb the greasy pole of life using Mother Nature’s selector of excellence: Survival of the Fittest. And in that contest, Natural Selection beats elections every time. And so it is that along the way in developing America’s law enforcement system, J. Edgar Hoover’s genius for publicity and self-righteous vengeance outmaneuvered elected officials to end up giving us a federal judiciary cloaked in a luster such that, like the gods of old, they can commit any crime with impunity.
So let’s begin with the history leading up to our current problem: An FBI running completely amuck. From J. Edgar Hoover’s realizing he could murder people for no better reason than he wanted a photograph of John Dillinger’s allegedly elephantine sized penis for his personal porn collection, to a President of the United States using the FBI as his own personal bludgeon a la Hitler’s Gestapo. 

DEDICATION

While the vast majority or our police and legal groups are honest, hardworking people, this is dedicated to that small cluster that have the guts and courage to see the systems’ problems, and then work on fixing them. I hope this will enlighten them to the corruption being done behind their backs and, sometimes, in their name, for they are the rock upon which all repairs to this system must rest if they are ever to be made.

CHAPTER 1
J. Edgar Hoover

Behind a large desk in a small office deep within the bowels of the FBI building, America’s top cop for nearly 50 years ruled vast resources to collect information on virtually anyone on the planet making him capable of blackmailing just about anybody, for few among us are without sin. But he too was flawed making it a quid quo pro in that, if anyone even thought about going public about his crimes or failings, he could destroy them by exposing theirs: Damaged goods was protecting damaged goods. And, compliments of our electing one very blackmailable leader after another, Hoover eventually came to realize he could get away with anything because no one was in a position to expose him. Murder, kidnapping, theft, you name it. And once this new found license was let loose in the FBI’s ranks, it was nurtured and cultivated by decades of reinforcement to become the norm that remains to this day.
We tend to hear one side of the story: That he was the bad guy. This is both sides of the tale, for the other side was just as just as corrupt, but funnier. 



standing homosexual relationship, but anyone mentioning it wasn’t happy very long. Neither were those indiscrete enough to mention Hoover’s father’s spending time in an insane asylum; or dying nuttier than a fruitcake; or that Hoover himself spent much of his life worrying about his own sanity, or that his childhood diary is little more than a young peeping-tom’s meticulous clocking of his neighbors activities; or that his grandfather, Dickerson Naylor Hoover, was a Washington D.C. born black man. And although this last item is fairly commonly known in the Negro community, did you ever hear about it? But to get the full flavor of this deeply flawed man’s abuse of power, you have but to watch the juggling act that took place between he and some of America’s most powerful people. Let’s begin with one of our more flawed presidents, and the man that gave Hoover more power than any other:

CHAPTER 2
HOOVER vs. THE ROOSEVELTS

Trying to understand FDR is like trying to understand Ichabod Crane, for both were created by fun loving writers for laughs. A chameleon like man who described his decision making process as, “… never letting my left hand know what my right is doing,” the motivation for his actions are nearly impossible to nail down because it seems that even he wasn’t sure of what he was going to do until after he’d done it.
A reporter following Roosevelt on the presidential campaign trail found himself threatened by his editor: Find something new to say, or else! But there wasn’t anything new to find, so our reporter simply made something up: He declared that FDR’s favorite song was none other than that hackneyed old warhorse, Home on the Range, and you know what? From that moment on, it was. Bands played it wherever he went and he’d smile, tap the arm of his chair, bounce his cane on the floor or … Of all our presidents, he was the ultimate quick-change-artist, but strangely enough, of the countless people that have written about him, only Michael Beschloss mentions that FDR played the accordion. 
For most of us, FDR was a mythological character concocted by the press who could never live up to his image, for, while his few virtues and accomplishments have been championed from the rooftops, his failures, mistresses, and prejudices have been carefully swept under the rug. Prejudices?
In 1939, 937 Jews trying to flee Hitler’s Germany chartered the German liner, MS St. Louis, to take them to Cuba where some had relatives. Learning of this, Hitler pressured the Cuban government to turn them away, which they did. The ship’s captain, Gustav Schröder, polled his charges and they decided to proceed to the United States, and as the ship headed in our direction, they sent our state department a message requesting asylum. And — on the order of President Roosevelt himself — asylum was denied and the ship was turned away.
While still in transit here, Roosevelt’s Secretary of the Treasury, Henry Morgenthau, Jr. who was both Jewish and Roosevelt’s neighbor at Hyde Park, and Roosevelt’s Post Master General, the very Catholic Jim Farley, asked the president to reconsider, and Roosevelt’s reply to them was the essence of the man himself: ‘What you gentlemen don’t seem to understand,’ he said, ‘is that this is a white man’s, protestant country, and that you Jews and Catholics live here at our sufferance.’

Variations of this quote appear in both Farley and Morgenthau’s diaries, with Morgenthau
 adding: “why do I work for this man?” 

And with a mind-set like that, it should come as no surprise that when W.W. II broke out, he had no qualm whatever in ordering the internment of all our west coast native born citizens of Japanese descent. And why not? They weren’t white northern European Christians were they? [Executive Order 9066, issued February 19, 1942]

I’ve often wondered if he even cared that the most highly decorated unit in United States Army history — and not just W.W. II, but history — was the 442nd Regimental combat team which fought in Italy, southern France and Germany and was almost completely composed of Nisei — second generation Japanese-Americans many of whose parents were interned at the time in a hell hole in the Californian desert known as Camp Manzanar. [One of these heroes, Daniel “Dan” Inouye, was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor and went on to become Hawaii’s first member of the House of Representatives (Hawaii became a state in 1959) before entering the Senate where he served from 1963 until his death in 2012.]

To end the St. Louis story, after Canada turned them down — and a Canadian newspaper went so far as to headline the question: “If the US doesn’t want them, why should we?” — the ship returned to Europe where most of the passengers found a temporary haven in the Low Countries. And I say temporary because as many as a quarter of them are believed to have died in concentration camps. And to some extent, Roosevelt might be blamed for that too: You see, as the war wound down and the allies had spare air power up the wazoo — all the good targets had been bombed flat — yet, the rail lines linking parts of Europe with the concentration camps were specifically noted as off limits to allied bombers. Why?

Incapable of focusing his shallow mind on anything in depth, he graduated from Harvard with a “Gentleman’s C,” left law school without graduating after flunking a major course, and failed at everything he tried before entering the politics racket.
As President, Roosevelt’s chief economist, a student of, John Maynard Keynes, put it: “…  if it were possible to have a negative knowledge of a subject, Roosevelt’s knowledge of economics was a negative number.” This was when Roosevelt decided to call in all the gold in circulation so he could revalue it to counter deflation — a subject he never understood. Or as Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau put it, when Roosevelt said he was thinking about raising the price of gold by 21 (looks like cents but dollars makes more sense, the word is blurred), he was asked why that number, and replied, “It’s a lucky number because it’s three times seven.” 
Morgenthau later wrote, “if anybody knew how we really set the gold price through a combination of lucky numbers, etc., I think they would he frightened.” [for details see Appendix I]
His Secretary of War, Henry L. Stimson, compared Roosevelt’s thought processes to, “chasing a vagrant beam of sunshine around a vacant room.” Stimson was the first person to serve in the cabinets of four presidents. 
Not particularly intelligent, never holding a real job in his life, never having a real friend, and with every single one of the business schemes he involved himself in going bust, he was a bumbling mediocrity only kept out of court, or even jail, by his mother’s money, for on many occasions, his actions skirted criminality very closely. Yet, as is so often the case with scions of the rich, it was the family’s fortune that helped buy him the nominated, and paid to cover up his faults. [For the numerous enterprises he involved himself in that failed, see Richard Beschloss’s fabulous book, Kennedy and Roosevelt. I simply cannot recommend this book too highly.] Yet, to most of us who know him only by hearsay, Roosevelt was that handsome smiling man with the glorious actor’s voice — as he once told Orson Wells, “you know, you and I are the two best actors in America” — who led us out of the great depression, guided us to victory in World War II, and died at the peak of his fame and power to enter Valhalla as one of America’s immortals. But, had his failures, prejudices and mistresses been made public, would he have even gotten the nomination to run for low office? Or would we tend to think of him as old Joe Kennedy did, as “that goddamned smiling four-flusher.”
Mistresses? His first was probably Eleanor’s secretary, Lucy Mercer, and Eleanor learned of it when unpacking his bags after a European trip he had taken as under secretary of the navy, [1918] and a bundle of Lucy’s love letters fell out. Lucy was fired, and Franklin was kicked out of Eleanor’s bed for good, but by then they’d already had six children. 

Lucy visited Franklin in the White House several times while Eleanor was away with most of these meetings set up by Roosevelt’s daughter, Anna. Even at Roosevelt’s end, the then widowed Lucy Mercer Rutherford was at his Georgia retreat with him. Eleanor had a fit when she learned of her daughter’s involvement in setting up these trysts. But this is the same Eleanor who had told her daughter that sex was something women had to learn to tolerate in marriage. They both learned better the usual way.



Another mistress was his statuesque secretary, Marguerite “Missy” LeHand. And while some question this, his son, Elliot, not only confirmed it, [well, almost confirmed] he’s the one that informed us of Missy’s having a bedroom next to Franklin’s in the White House as compared to the one on the third floor which, if anyone mentions her at all, is the one usually mentioned. Elliot failed, however, to note that his mother’s lesbian girlfriend, Lorena Hickok, had a bedroom next to hers in the White House at about the same time. [Missy and Joe Kennedy had many reasons to exchange notes over the years: Both signed theirs, “Love and Kisses.”]
Then there was the maiden 6th cousin, Margaret “Daisy” Suckley. [SOOK-lee] Miss Suckley outlived them all dying in 1991 just short of her 100th birthday, but the bloom was off the Roosevelt biographies and the diary, letters, and photographs found under her bed after her death are still little known. Too bad. According to her, crippled though Franklin was, he one horny as hell lover, and she gives us the only two photos known of FDR in a wheel chair. 


Hoover was also upset with the way the Roosevelt’s had brought up their children. Of the six, five lived to their majority, and among them, they married a staggering 19 times. In birth order they are:
Anna married three times; 
James four; 
Elliot five; 
FDR Jr. five and 
John only two. The family slacker I guess.

But Hoover never came close to needing any of this, for dim bulb though Franklin might have been, Eleanor was a far richer font of blackmail material than he ever was.
Homely and squeaky though she became, Eleanor was, like her husband, one horny toad. And after leaving her husband’s bed, [1918] she’s believed to have had an affair with her future biographer, Joseph Lash, before starting numerous lesbian relationships leading to Franklin’s building her a cottage of her own at Hyde Park for her and her friends to hangout. [This kept ‘the girls’ out of sight during Franklin’s political meeting. And since his mother’s money paid for it, we might assume that she approved too, but probably for very different reasons. Like, propriety perhaps?] A number of miscellaneous ladies kept Eleanor busy until Lorena Hickok showed up. [She was the first female writer for The New York Time to have her own by-line.]
 The short, chunky, cigar-chomping writer and the tall patrician Eleanor hit it off immediately. [At 5’111/2” Eleanor was our tallest First Lady with Michelle Obama coming in second at 5’11”, although some say they’re a tie at 5’11”] 



And you know, while there were lots or complaints about Churchill’s cigars stinking up the White House when he stayed there, I’ve never found a single complaint about Lorena’s cigar smoke. Different brand perhaps? 

The Lorena/Eleanor love letters are so fascinating they’ve been collected into the book, Empty Without You: The Intimate Letters of Eleanor Roosevelt and Lorena Hickok. And there were loads of them, at least until Lorena was given a government job whose paycheck came with a bedroom next to Eleanor’s in the White House. At the president’s death, Lorena moved into the Hyde Park cottage [Franklin, an only child, had inherited the Hyde Park Estate when his mother died on September 7, 1941 one month to the day before the attack on Pearl Harbor.] where she worked as an archivist on the Roosevelt papers even after Eleanor’s death. [11/7/62] At Lorena’s death, [5/1/68] she left her papers to the Roosevelt Library, and among them were the staggering 2336 letters Eleanor had written to her: That’s a letter a day for over six and a half years! And 1,024 copies of letters Lorena had written to Eleanor.
So what sort of shenanigans did Hoover get away with under Roosevelt because he didn’t have the guts to fire him? Immediately after FDR’s administration granted the Bureau of Investigation the right to carry weapons, [1934] Hoover authorized his agents to murder people. 


CHAPTER 3



Nineteen-thirty-four started out a nightmare year for the sixth director of the Bureau of Investigation, for J. Edgar Hoover headed the nation’s only law enforcement agency empowered to cross state and county lines, and he alone was being held responsible for failing to halt the country’s rash of bank robberies. And, it was common knowledge that in the near future, the agency was going to get a new name, new powers, and perhaps a new boss. Something had to be done and done fast if he wanted to be sure of keeping his job, and one robber in particular kept him up nights: John Dillinger.
Twice Dillinger had been captured and twice he’d escaped, but his second venture into the free world was almost unbelievably annoying to the Director. You see, at Dillinger’s second capture, he was extradited to Indiana’s Lake County jail where interim Sheriff Lillian Holley reigned and she was so proud of herself that she had a movie camera brought in to document the event. [And interim in that she replaced her husband who’d been gunned down in the line of duty.]
She had her hair done, put on her best dress, and at the appropriate moment shouted the immortal words, “Action! Camera!” Trust me, this led to no good, for in short order, Johnny’s lawyer, Louis Piquett, smuggled a wooden ‘gun’ into the prison, and that really livened things up.
Using this simple painted piece of wood, Dillinger took over the place, locked the deputies in the cell he himself had just occupied and, after tossing his ‘weapon’ at them to laughingly show how he’d faked them out with a hunk of wood, he dumped most of the department’s guns, ammunition, and a bullet roof vest or two into the sheriff’s model “A” Ford, and drove off into the sunset. Bad as this sounds, it gets worse.


His escape did wonders for the popularity of the film clip of the sheriff and her deputies having a deliciously friendly chat with one of the world’s more notorious criminals as it made the rounds of the nation’s theaters. It might have made her look a bit foolish but it was just the first gift of the gods to the press, for soon thereafter, Henry Ford looked up to find his amazed secretary saying something like, ‘Boss, you aren’t going to believe this, but you just got a thank you note from John Dillinger.’ 
This is the actual note he sent to the Ford Company.



Ever mindful of reporters’ penchant for creative writing, Ford began by only hinting at the letter’s content thus giving the press a field day that gave J. Edgar a migraine. Then the Motor Co. faked the note released below.


Of the many manufacturers and models of cars in that era, most had straight four or six cylinder engines of between 25 and 50 HP with a top speed of about 75 miles per hour. The Ford V-8 was rated at 65 HP and could make 95 miles per hour and outrun all but the most expensive cars, which, of course, few police departments could afford. They were however, the adored cars of the hillbilly hooch making rumrunners who used them to avoid the revenuers. After prohibition, the rumrunners used them to start NASCAR.
 
Hoover had had it and did two significant things: For the first time, the bureau printed and distributed posters declaring someone to be “Public Enemy #1,” and he changed the rules of engagement. 
       

To eliminate the annoyance of any further prisoner escapes, Hoover simply suggested that when Dillinger and his ilk were captured, they were never to be allowed to escape again. The significance of this is that it’s 1934 — the first year Bureau agents were authorized to carry guns — and there’s only one-way you can be absolutely sure someone doesn’t escape: You kill them. And from that moment on, the gloves were off, and there was to be no more of this fair play crap, and the immature twits of the FBI started killing people wholesale because they believed themselves above the law and they still do. It was then that Dillinger’s luck ran out. 
Anna Sage was living in Chicago and, in addition to dating Dillinger, she was also an illegal immigrant from Romania who’d had a spat with the law over one form of prostitution or other, and the U.S. Immigration service was moving to have her deported. Needing advice, she asked a cop she’d been paying off for help and, knowing the Bureau was the only law enforcement group with the connections to help her, he suggested she try to work out a deal with them.
Melvin Purvis was the Chicago bureau’s chief when she called and he assigned himself the task of go-between, and they did work out a deal: The Bureau would give her $10,000 in cash and a new identity, and she would give them John Dillinger. Then Purvis sat back to await her call which came the next day. [July 22, 1934]
She said she’d be leaving for a movie in about half an hour with Johnny. She wasn’t sure whether they’d be going to, the Biograph or the Marlboro, so he’d have to cover both theaters. And, because Purvis had no good picture of her and Dillinger’s appearance was unknown after he’d had extensive plastic surgery done on his face, she’d be wearing a screaming orange dress for easy identification. 



Purvis checked the theaters, found the Biograph was running a gangster flick and, believing that’s the one Dillinger would like to see, headed that group himself. Time went by then, there she was, although her orange dress looked red under the theater’s yellow marquee lights. Purvis lit his cigar, the signal for his agents to move in and, noticing the commotion, Dillinger took off down an alley where a shot or two in the back brought him face down on the ground. Then, with Anna Sage and others looking on, John Dillinger was murdered mob style as an agent casually walked up and fired a single shot into the back of his head at point blank range. And this was no spur of the moment event, for not only had Hoover specifically ordered Dillinger’s murder, he did it to satisfy his personal morbid curiosity. You see, when FBI agents interviewed several of Dillinger’s molls, they’d described his endowment as the 8th wonder of the world, and the penis-happy [see web address below] Hoover had ordered his Chicago office to make sure they sent him a photo of Dillinger naked on the morgue slab: Hard to do if he’s still alive.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2098423/J-Edgar-Hoover-New-book-exposes-secret-world-FBI-Director.html

Dillinger’s facial surgery was so successful even his father wasn’t sure it was he in the casket. The murder of John Dillinger has been documented on the History Channel DVD: Crime Wave: 18 Months of Mayhem, $19.99. I might note that, of all the more famous bank robbers of that era, Bonny and Clyde, Baby Face Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd, John Dillinger, ‘Ma’ Barker and her sons and gang, etc. all those caught by the Bureau were shot dead resisting arrest except Machine Gun Kelly. (Actually, George Celino Barnes) Perhaps the fact that he’d only surrender with a lot of people around, and when he finally did came out of the house they’d surrounded with his hands up, he was shouting, “Don’t shoot G-men! Don’t shoot G-men!” He is almost unique among them in dying of natural causes. This is what gave the FBI agents the nickname, “G-Men!”

Anna Sage had done her job, but she’d also seen too much and become a liability. Now she too must be disposed of, for what if she ran out of money and decided to sell her story? She knew of the Bureau’s having defied the immigration guys, and she’d seen an outright murder, no, she too had to go.
Oh, she was given a new identity and half of the promised $10,000, but it wasn’t long before Purvis’ phone was ringing again. It seems that somehow, the immigration boys had found her and were holding her in protective custody pending her deportation. Could he help? Perhaps he tried, for it was at this time that Purvis was demoted, and the new Chicago bureau chief took him off the case, and she was informed, ‘through channels’ that the newly renamed bureau —now the FBI — ‘didn’t have very good connections with immigration and...’
The last of her money was spent on lawyers trying to stay her deportation, and when the money ran out, so did they, and she disappears from our story. Agent Purvis didn't do much better.
There are two versions of Purvis’ leaving the agency the year after Dillinger’s death: First, that he was squeezed out because he’d become too popular for Hoover’s taste – Purvis had personally been involved in the capture of more public enemies than any other agent in FBI history, a record that stands to this day – and had become the darling of the press; the other, is that he quit in disgust after arguing with Hoover over the agency’s deliberately double-crossing Anna Sage, and it was this that led to his demotion. In any case, when the delusional, anal retentive homosexual Hoover was named the founding director of the newly named Federal Bureau of Investigation in 1935, it stiffened his resolve in believing that he simply was the law and shouldn’t have to tolerate anyone who had this childish notion that the law had anything to do with truth, goodness, mercy, or any of that crap. And any man so naive that he didn’t understand that J. Edgar Hoover’s concept of the Constitution was the law was simply not FBI material. [He’d even been known to fire people for, “looking like a truck driver.”]
From then until his death in 1960, Melvin Purvis practiced law, but even his death is a two-for. Family members believe he died when the gun, given to him as a parting gift by fellow agents when he left the FBI, went off accidentally while he was trying to extract a jammed shell, but an FBI investigation based on exactly the same data declared his death a suicide. As is so often the case when dealing with the bureau, the facts are rarely clear. 
Needless to say, Hoover had nothing to fear so long as the Roosevelt’s were in office, for at a time when a simple divorce could end a political career, one phone call by Hoover could have utterly destroyed them. And, perhaps to appease Hoover, at the beginning of WW II, Roosevelt created and gave vast powers to investigate individuals who might be a threat to our nation to the FBI; and, since Hoover himself would be both interpreter and implementer of this order, he used it to move into every facet of surveillance imaginable, and all without a warrant or any other form of legal authorization of course: Opening mail, tapping telephones and all the other techniques still used today, and none of this ended just because the war did. Roosevelt had increased Hoover’ power enormously and one of the first things Hoover started using that power to do was to begin collecting dirt on those he hated, and among those, were the Kennedys. 
At Roosevelt’s death, [4/12/45], Hoover had a new sparing partner, a man who, while he hated Hoover personally, never had to guts to curb him. 

CHAPTER 4

HOOVER vs. HARRY S TRUMAN

Like his predecessor, Harry Truman failed at everything he tried with the exception of — if you don’t mind his lying about his eyesight to get in — his stint as a captain of artillery in W.W. I. [He passed the eye exam by memorizing the chart.]
He tried farming, mining speculation, selling cars, selling club memberships, a bunch of other things, he even partnered in opening a men’s clothing store — although historians like to elevate this failure to the rank of a haberdashery which, to them, seems to sound better. You name it, he tried it and — like his predecessor — he failed at everything until he discovered the politics racket. Still, he differed from many of our leaders in that he was a member of that truly small group that married and spent the rest of their lives both happily and faithfully with one woman. 
Harry Truman was only seven or eight years old when he met Bess Wallace in his Southern Baptist Church’s Sunday school and grew up to date only her, marry only her, and live happily ever after, meaning that there was an incredibly small amount of scandal in his life. But this wasn’t true of those around him, especially his political mentor, Boss Thomas Joseph Pendergast, who ran Jackson County Missouri with an iron fist and who was a crook in every sense of the word but one: Controlling the local judiciary, he was un-indictable at the local level. So, like Al Capone, the feds nailed him on Income Tax evasion. 
Under Prendergast’s tutelage, Harry became a U.S. Senator, and was referred to by some colleagues of both parties as, “the senator from Pendergast.” As Pendergast could most definitely be threatened, it was in that protective context that Truman said, “…we want no Gestapo or secret police (in America, but the) FBI is tending in that direction. They are dabbling in sex-life scandals and plain blackmail ... Edgar Hoover would give his right eye to take over, and all congressmen and senators are afraid of him.” 
But dislike Hoover though he might, as president, Harry couldn’t contain him. And on his watch, Hoover on his own, banished one of the most famous people in the world from our shores simply because he thought the guy might be a communist. 


A groundless paternity suit against a rich man is usually nothing more than an expensive, time wasting annoyance, but if the director of the FBI is J. Edgar Hoover and he hates your guts, it can get a lot more serious than you might think. 
In 1943, a pretty, young thing named Joan Barry told the California registrar filling in her baby’s birth certificate that the child’s daddy was none other than the world famous comic, Charlie Chaplin. And when that hit the papers it gave a new meaning to the phrase, ambulance chaser, for she had worked with Chaplin and the press suspected it just might be true. 
Naturally she sued for everything she could get, and equally naturally, Charlie’s lawyers put together a team of medical experts to counter her charges. His experts checked the kid’s blood type and, as luck would have it in that era before DNA, scientifically proved that the baby’s blood type was one of those rare combinations that simply precluded any chance of Chaplin’s being the father. [for details see Appendix 2]
But what lawyer worries about silly things like truth, goodness, or justice when fame and fortune in the law business comes with winning cases that real justice says should be lost? So how did her sleazy attorney, Joseph Scott, get around the truth to win? By convincing the judge that, since such tests had never been admitted in evidence before in California, he should not set a precedent by admitting them in this case, and the judge agreed. Thus, her lawyer’s closing argument to the jury went something like this:

‘Look at that lovely young lady with that beautiful child. Now look at the rich old sleaze bag. How many times has he been married? Three? Four? Five? I’ve lost count. And do you know that two of the girls he married were only 16 at the time? Now whom are you going to believe? That lovely lady with that beautiful child, or that rich old pervert?’

The jury’s results were: Lying sleaze bag 10, innocent defendant, zip.
Shortly after this trial, California passed a law requiring its judiciary to give expert testimony the weight it deserves making such cases unlikely today. But I say unlikely because lawyers will be lawyers. A web search for this case might begin with ‘Chaplin paternity suit.’

What could this possible have to do with the FBI? Ah ha! The Director had hated Chaplin for decades —ever since Chaplin put him down at a party as a mater of fact. A party where Hoover was loudly pontificating on the dangers of communism and Charlie laughed him off as a weird zealot. That did it! Without a shard of proof – he was sure Chaplin was a communist and patiently awaited the day when the comic would do something he could be attacked for.  Like head home to Jolly Old England perhaps?
It wasn’t until 1952 that Chaplin announced that he’d be heading home to premiere his new stage work, Limelight, in London. And as soon as Hoover learned of Chaplin’s plans, he asked Immigration and Naturalization Services to revoke his reentry permit on the grounds of a lack of moral turpitude as proven by a jury verdict in a paternity suit. 
An agent was on the dock watching as the Chaplins boarded the ship that day; and as the great liner cast off its lines and slowly started down the Hudson River into the wide Atlantic, the agent headed for a pay phone. 
The instantly released press statement said that Mr. Charles Chaplin had left the U.S. for the last time because he’d been declared an undesirable alien on the basis of his having been found guilty of siring a child in this country out of wedlock. 

Although Chaplin denied he’d ever been a communist, many insist that the revocation of his reentry permit was because he was thought to be a communist. But thinking someone might be something has never quite made it to acceptable-hard-evidence status. By the way, while both our FBI and England’s MI5 were investigating him in the 50’s, neither could find his birth certificate. Sound like any president we know

On April 10, 1972, the 83-year-old Chaplin returned to America one last time to receive an honorary lifetime achievement award at the Oscars, and Hoover was still alive and would be for another 22 days. [d. 5/2/72] Whether he watched the award show that night or not, I haven’t a clue, but I’m sure he must have loved it in any case. But the real question is, how did Hoover get away with this sort of thing? And the answer is always the same, the fear of Blackmail if you even said peep. 
Needless to say, Hoover had nothing to fear so long as Roosevelt was in office, and by the end of his presidency, the FBI had gained the right to bare firearms, been given tacit approval to invade people’s privacy by opening mail, tapping phones, etc., and learned that murder was just fine if you spun the news just right. Truman was too tied up trying to fix his almost endless list of blunders to get involved in the Chaplin affair, so at the end of his term we have the FBI continuing all the Roosevelt approved illegalities plus adding the malicious eviction of people Hoover deemed dangerous to us. Next to spar with J. Edgar was, Dwight David Eisenhower.

Among Truman’s blunders were, well let’s see: One simply must mention the Korean War (1950-53) that he wrote, produced, directed, then wouldn’t let us win; then there was the Berlin Airlift when Stalin wrote him off as a pussycat (my translation of the Russian adds a touch to the word) and cut off our access to our sector of Berlin because he knew the gutless Truman wouldn’t do anything about it. (And we had the atom bomb at the time and the Russians didn’t, but it didn’t matter, like all liberals, the first thing Truman did at the end of W.W. II was dismantle our military.) Oh, and did I mention that after his Potsdam Meeting with Stalin, Truman said, ‘I’ve looked him in the eye and know I can trust him.’ On the basis of that, when Stalin suggested that the Polish government in exile return from England, Truman was all for it. Their plane landed in Warsaw, they reviewed the troops, got into limousines, and drove off never to be heard from again. Then Harry ran interference for his daughter’s questionable vocal talents with a noisy dispute with a critic — and all out in the open — and finally, he tried to run for a second term on his own only to find that even his own party had started singing, “I’m just mild about Harry,” and when he lost the New Hampshire primary, he angrily dropped out of the race to return to Missouri to sulk in his mother-in-law’s home. Well, at least he wasn’t a crook. I mean, he’d own his own house if he were, right?

 
CHAPTER 5

HOOVER vs. EISENHOWER:


Lewis Lichtenstein Strauss [God knows why, but he pronounced his name ‘straws’] was not a man to cross, for he had a long memory and a well-honed collection of vicious ways of getting even. Yet, for all his talent, brains and education, his holding of petty grudges made him a lot more enemies than friends. And one of those he truly hated, was physicist, J. Robert Oppenheimer, for Strauss considered it a mortal sin to disagree with him and Oppy turned disagreeing with Strauss into a hobby. 
In 1948, when a discussion came up about the creation of the state of Israel at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton New Jersey where Oppenheimer was the director and Strauss was on the board, Oppenheimer was all for it, and Strauss said it was a stupid idea that would only start a war that would last a 1000 years. Actually that seems to be a draw in that they were both right.
Then there was the development of the hydrogen bomb: Strauss was for it, Oppenheimer against it. But the real problem came about when Strauss took a stand on a subject he knew next to nothing about, and Oppenheimer used the occasion to publicly mock him.
The government owned facility at Oak Ridge Tennessee manufactured a vast array of radioactive elements and compounds, and Congress was mulling whether or not to allow some of those to be sold to our allies: Strauss was against it, Oppenheimer for it. 
Strauss had become a politically appointed member of the Atomic Energy Commission, but that poured little to no useful information into his head. So when congress held hearings on the matter and called him as a witness, what he told them was essentially the off-the-cuff ramblings of a huge ego devoid of any facts on the subject. [Strauss also said electricity would soon be too cheap to meter. Too bad I can’t send him my electric bill.]
So when Oppenheimer was in the witness chair and Strauss asked him how important these radioactive items would be if used against us, Oppenheimer replied, “less important than electronic devices but more important than, let us say, than vitamins.” Congress laughed, and Strauss went ballistic. Oppenheimer had to be destroyed, and the easiest way to start that process would be to remove his security clearance.
Strauss pressed President Eisenhower — and it was only Strauss’ distribution of his money that gave him such audiences — to revoke Oppenheimer’s security clearance, and just before Christmas in 1953, he got to gleefully tell Oppenheimer that his clearance had been suspended and, he went on to suggest that Oppy might consider voluntarily giving it up rather than go to the time and trouble of a hearing. Oppy opted for the hearing that took on all the characteristics of a kangaroo court with the prosecution holding all the cards. 
Whether Strauss went to Hoover or it was the other way around doesn’t matter much, for although Hoover hated Negros, Jews, foreigners in general, and lots of others just for fun, and both Oppenheimer and Strauss were Jewish, Hoover really hated communists and tended to see them everywhere, and would help just about anyone trying to destroy them, and in Oppy’s case, he might just possibly have been right. 
Oppenheimer’s brother Frank was a card carrying communist, Oppy’s wife Kitty was probably the same, and many of his students at Berkley too had been regulars at communist meetings. So even years before there was even the hint of a Manhattan Project and its atom bomb, Hoover had —under the war powers given to him by Roosevelt — Oppenheimer’s home and home phone bugged, his office and office phone bugged and had been routinely opening his mail. Now, for this investigation, and long after the war powers should have expired, Hoover extended these same courtesies to Oppenheimer’s attorney: The FBI bugged Oppenheimer’s attorney's home and home phone, his office and office phone, and intercepted his mail too. And all illegally of course. 
Then there’s the matter of discovery. You know, when they tell you what they’ve got on you? Well, they failed to turn over anything significant, so again and again during the proceedings Oppenheimer was surprised by things being mentioned that had happened many years before that he’d forgotten about and ...
With the deck stacked like this, I don’t have to tell you how it turned out do I?
Anyway, it was a hot point during the cold war so, perhaps it just fell through the cracks with Ike thinking that, if congress didn’t choose to investigate the situation, why should he get involved, for unlike Roosevelt or Truman who failed at everything they tried before jumping into the politics game, Eisenhower succeeded at everything he did, and that included graduating first in his class at the U.S. Army’s War Collage, the thing most likely to have been key in his being appointed Supreme Allied Commander in Europe during World War II. And, since, with the exception of the Kay Summersby situation where he might have consummated an affair with his wartime driver and then secretary, he was practically flawless. But when hard pressed — as when during his presidential campaign he was talked into omitting mild praise for his mentor General George C. Marshall from a speech because it offended nut-job Republican Senator Joseph McCarthy — he could also be gutless.
Oh, and one last thing, as many in the politics business, Strauss made his way up the slippery slope via wealth, and where did his money come from? He made most of it as a youthful SHOE SALESMAN. Who ever said hard work couldn’t make you a real pest?
While Hoover didn’t manage to expand his powers under Eisenhower, although he did get to push his illegal invasion of privacy about as far as it could go. Under the next president, he went to the limit by adding kidnapping to his list of permissible crimes.

[A fine exposition of this story can be found on: American Experience DVD: The trials of 
J. Robert Oppenheimer  $19.99.]

CHAPTER 6

HOOVER vs. JOE KENNEDYS

Joe Kennedy branded one idea on his kids’ foreheads as gospel: “It’s not what you are that counts, it’s what people think you are.” And the entire Kennedy clan has spent their lives polishing their images to make themselves look as intelligent and respectable as possible while being little more than a bunch of philandering mediocrities, although their third son was an exception in that Robert Kennedy failed philandering, but had 11 children by his wife anyway.
Expecting to get rich in the business world, Joe Kennedy majored in economics at Harvard — until he flunked it. Then, on the advice of his baseball coach — he was allegedly a great ball player — he changed his major to something he might actually pass which was — hold on to your underwear — classical music appreciation. So what follows is sort of the big war of the little minds with a Beethoven lover waving the stick.
Joe Kennedy contributed so much time and money to the Roosevelt campaign of 1932 that, even though these men had little respect for each other, Roosevelt owed him. And after several minor jobs where Joe did a truly outstanding job — plus writing and publishing the book, I’m For Roosevelt for the 1936 election— Franklin offered him the post he knew Joe craved — being America’s Ambassador to the Court of Saint James! [And the way Roosevelt offered him this job is so fabulous you simply must read it in Michael Beschloss’ book, Kennedy and Roosevelt, pg. 154]
 Think of it! An Irish-Catholic representing the great United States of America in England! Just the sort of stick-in-the-eye thing Joe loved. But once in England, our music-major ambassador forgot the tune he was supposed to sing.
FDR quickly became furious with him, [Ambassador from January 17, 1938 – October 22, 1940] for, while it was obvious that war with Germany was inevitable, Joe simply refused to follow the party line. He favored the Hitler-appeasing Neville Chamberlin, and disagreed completely with the bellicose Winston Churchill. And on more than one occasion even went so far as to try setting up a one-on-one with Hitler even though this was absolutely forbidden by state department protocol. But, like the good old sociopath he was, he was sure he could talk Hitler into anything so why worry about silly little things like a state department directive? 

J. Edger too thought he could end the war with a one-on-one with Hitler. Sociopaths are all alike in some ways. But they always forget one little thing, when dealing with other sociopaths, the opponent is just as sure he can convince you, as you are that you can convince them. 

But it was his never ending carping about appeasement that really got FDR’s goat, and the final blow came when Joe was quoted in the Boston Sunday Globe as saying “Democracy is finished in England and maybe here [the USA] too,” [issue of November 10, 1940]
FDR’s meeting with Joe instantly brought him to heel, but the contents of that meeting have never been disclosed and historians have long speculated about it. Did FDR have something from Hoover’s secret archive to blackmail him into silence? All we’re sure of is that it was a very loquacious appeaser that entered the President’s office that day, and a very quiet pro Roosevelt man that came out. What could have shut him up so fast? Could rumors of how he’d made a fortune in the various European stock markets by shorting the stocks of countries just before Germany attacked them be true?
Did he short Czechoslovakian stocks before Hitler took over the Sudetenland? Did he do the same thing to Polish stocks just before Germany’s invasion of that country started W.W. II? [9/1/39] Did he keep his roll going by doing it again before Hitler invaded France? And if true, where did he get the information? Was it from the same guy who’s said to have personally guarantied the Kennedy family’s safety as they sailed home across the Atlantic, Germany’s Reich’s Marshal, Herman Göring? But even if true, why would it’s getting out terrify the man who’d made money in virtually every shady way imaginable in this country? Perhaps because this was different in that it contained a hint of the sulfurous whiff of treason, which, if it ever got out, would end a Kennedy dynasty even before it began. 
Joe Kennedy desperately wanted to be America’s first Catholic President, but his truly brilliant, “democracy is finished,” remark ended any chance of that, so he did the next best thing: He bought the job for his sons. His eldest, Joe Jr., was fully prepped, but killed in the war, but he still had three more to make President to establish a Kennedy dynasty, and the next in line was John F. Kennedy.

CHAPTER 7

HOOVER vs. JOHN FITZGERALD KENNEDY
or
HOOVER vs. the Drug King!

JFK’s college major was international relations, suggesting that right off the bat he was preparing for a political career, and among his Harvard senior year achievements was his expanding a paper he’d written to be published as: Why England Slept. [1940] But was it his? You see, when Joe Kennedy asked Harold Laski to write an introduction to it for publication, Laski turned him down saying it was, “the book of an immature mind; that if it hadn't been written by the son of a very rich man, he wouldn't have found a publisher.” 
Kennedy’s asking Laski made no sense at all, for Laski was England’s premier communist and having his name on the book would have undoubtedly caused all kinds of problems later, but then, they might not have had the brains to realize that communism was going to be the world’s next big problem. Or that that was just the sort of thing J. Edgar Hoover filed away for future use. Anyway, the book seems to have been punched up a bit by somebody before being presented to family friend, Henry Luce [creator of Time magazine] with the same request and Luce said yes.
As you can see, JFK began forging a reputation by bending rules right from the start. And he had many more skeletons to hide before making it to the top. Another was his dating the suspected German spy, Inga Arvad, while a young naval officer. 



He also lied brilliantly about his health, as anyone planning to buy the presidency must when peddling damaged goods. 
Shortly after entering Princeton University, [1935] he was diagnosed with leukemia and left that school. He either recovered from this, or it was a misdiagnosis, but then along came Addison’s disease among other health problems, and if there’s a disease you don’t want a leader to have, this is it. A defect of the Adrenal glands in that they do not produce sufficient corticoid hormones, it can make those with it highly erratic with regard to their physical conduct and thinking processes, especially when put under stress. Yet, his old man’s pressuring got this multiply certified 4-F into the navy bringing us to the story of PT 109. Want to hear it without the spin? 
Every navy captain losing a ship is court-martialed as a routine procedure. Well, lets look at the facts as they came out in this case. 
At his court-martial, it was found that, the very day before he lost his ship, our hero had gotten hold of a 37 mm antitank gun and had it mounted to his ship’s deck on the spot formerly occupied by a two man life-raft. And while adding something to the boat is absolutely forbidden without a study confirming that the change will not adversely impact the boat’s performance — and let’s not forget the now-missing life raft—who was going to argue with the son of a former ambassador that had recently given the President’s reelection campaign a small fortune?



The very next night, [August 2nd 1943] Kennedy’s squadron was ordered to cover an island pass called the Blackett straights. [Between Kolombangara and Arundel islands in the Solomon Island Archipelago.] Well, Kennedy didn’t think anything was going to happen, so he sent two of his men below to rest — completely against regulations during a potential battle operation. Then he had another brainstorm: Since it was a moonless night and the only one of his senses that seemed to be working was that of hearing, he — again against all regulations — had two of his boat’s three 1,500 horsepower Packard engines shut off so he could hear better. Still a bit noisy, he had rags stuffed into the tail pipe of the remaining engine. 
Having broken just about every rule in the book, he had set himself up for a total disaster, for heading through the Blackett Straight at high speed that night was the Japanese destroyer Amagiri which spotted him — steered to ram — and was on top of him almost before he knew it. And in the seconds he had to react, he threw all his throttles forward to full speed ahead and, of course, you know what happened. Nothing! And why should it? With two of his engines off, and the third stalling because of backpressure caused by his illegal stuffing of rags in its tailpipe, he had turned one of the fastest boats in the world into flotsam. And the two men he had so completely against regulations sent below to rest? They never had a chance as the antitank gun he had so illegally added to the deck caused much of the ship’s remains to capsize and sink like a rock. But Hey! Cheer up! Some of his crew were actually saved by grabbing onto timbers he’d used to support his illegal deck gun. Remember? The one that replaced the two-man raft?
Okay, so with the two man raft missing because he’d ditched to set his illegal gun, he saved a guy’s life by putting a strap around him, holding the strap in his teeth, and swimming them both to safety, but does this justify Old Joe’s lobbying to get him a Congressional Medal of Honor? The simple fact is, the navy’s thoughts on the matter were quite different. By looking at navy rules and procedures as a joke beneath his contempt, he had lost his ship, killed two of his men, and instead of a Congressional Medal of Honor, they were thinking more along the lines of charging him with gross dereliction of duty and drumming him out of the service as a complete idiot. And if daddy hadn’t given Roosevelt all that campaign money, his navel career might have ended in a Fort Leavenworth cell instead of a Washington D.C. oval office. But hey, we’re talking about Old Joe here and he quickly persuaded FDR into decorating Our Hero.
Now the fun begins! You see, there being no medal for stilted heroism, Roosevelt instantly ordered that one be created. And on August 7, 1942 – just five days after Kennedy lost his boat — the Navy & Marine Corps medal made its debut. Some think of this as the ultimate Roosevelt joke, for it seems he knew that any Kennedy will accept any bit of frippery that might be of future political use, and he laughingly supplied one. 

Were a kennel club to strike a medal for best-trained dog, and a cute little poodle trained to sweep up its own poop won it, the medal it received might look a lot like this. And while it would seems that this too was struck specifically for a man that had merely helped clean up the mess caused by his own arrogance, stupidity and dereliction of duty, the navy seems to have lost track of the actual first recipient’s name! Really! I kid you not! And while I feel certain that most of the medal’s later recipients actually did something for it, this particular Kennedy’s getting it leads to a truly sad story indeed. 



Only one in three crewmen of a B-17 flying over Germany during World War II was alive and well after 25 missions, hence, anyone reaching that magic number was deemed to have endangered themselves enough for their country, and were allowed to transfer home if they wished. And JFK’s elder brother, Lt. Joseph Patrick “Joe” Kennedy Jr., was just such a hero and had already filed his papers when he learned of his kid brother’s receiving this silly trinket. Then the super competitiveness of the Kennedy clan kicked in practically forcing him to stay in Europe where he volunteered for an extraordinarily dangerous mission so that he too might come home with some useless bauble. But instead, he was tragically killed in an aerial explosion such that his body was never found. And for the rest of his life before his stroke, Old Joe could often be heard walking around muttering, “That goddamned smiling four-flusher,” as he referred to FDR, “murdered my son.” Actually, it was the ridiculously overblown sense of competitiveness that he’d instilled in his kids that did it. 



Once the war was over, Old Joe prepared his next eldest son for office by buying his election to the House of Representatives, [1946] and buy is the only word that fits. You see, Joe didn’t even ask the local party regulars about considering his son as their candidate. He simply hired people to collect the signatures needed on a petition to put his kid on the ballot, and once on it, bought his election. And his time in the House wasn’t particularly appreciated by other democrats either. Or as former Speaker of the House, Tip O’Neil, put it: [This following is a paraphrase of a talk I heard him give.]

‘Jack would avoid committee meetings that weren’t televised as a waste of time. But when a committee he was on had finished its work on some bill or other that was ready for a vote sending it to the floor, Jack would show up with a speech. Not a speech he’d written or even a speech he’d wasted his time rehearsing mind you, but a speech he’d had written for him by somebody else that he’d stumble through suggesting that he’d been a major player in getting the bill prepared. Then he’d smile for the cameras that were only there because of his daddy’s money — you know, Time, News Week, Life, that mob — then he’d leave and they wouldn’t see him for another couple of months.’

But two terms in the House was plenty for this obvious presidential hopeful, and in 1952, the same high pressure tactics that had gained him a House seat moved him up to the Senate, where he remembered how well his book trick, the publishing of, “Why England Slept,” had helped him in the past, and decided to punch up his resume with a new book. And soon, another bestseller came out over his name: Profiles in Courage. [1956] And, like book #1, there was some question as to who had actually wrote it too. I mean, was Ted Sorenson — the man who eventually became his major presidential speech writer — really so poor that, in order to have a copy of his own he had to write the whole book out in long hand on a legal pad? [This penciled document can be found in the Kennedy Library.] And soon rumors started bouncing around that, just maybe, Kennedy hadn’t written this book either and the press started asking questions and settled on Sorenson as the likely writer. Yet, every time he was asked about it, he’d give a variation of the same non-denial denial: “The author of a book is the person whose name is on the title page and who takes responsibility for the book’s contents.” [Read: ‘I was paid very well to do it and I ain’t admittin nutin.’]
And it sure helps to get a book on the bestseller list when daddy buys thousands of copies from the stores he knows are polled to create that list. It also didn’t hurt that daddy asked his friend, Arthur Krock, a member of the Pulitzer Prize committee, to have the book considered for that award, and I guess it should come as no shock to anyone that a year later, his book won a Pulitzer Prize. [1957] [Arthur Krock was also probably involved in writing Old Joes’ book, I’m for Roosevelt in 1936] Naturally, all this glorious talent can only lead to one place: America’s Valhalla, The White House! Which brings us back to the question of his health. When questioned about it, the devious weasels at Bethesda Naval Hospital merely sucked in their guts and sidestepped the question by lying to us by half-truth. 
Without mentioning that Addison’s disease comes in two types: It can be caused by disease, such as a tubercular infection, or by autoimmune destruction where you become allergic to your own tissue, they said he did not have the disease-induced form of the disease, which was true, while failing to mention that he did have the autoimmune type. And on the day he took office as President of the United States, this man who would look you straight in the eye and swear he was in great shape, was taking 12 prescription drugs a day including hydrocortisone and a testosterone spinoff, meaning that by today’s standards, he was so coked-up he couldn’t get a job coaching a high school ball team. As a matter of fact, his prescription list is virtually identical to those used by criminals today to excuse their violent behavior. And should you try to justify any of this by suggesting that these drugs were legitimately prescribed for his health problems, my question back at you is the obvious: “What health problems? Didn’t this lying bastard tell everyone he was in excellent health?”
 Anyway, knowing Hoover was up on all this, the Kennedys’ still thought they could bring him to heel once Jack was president. Ha! While they thought of themselves as Harvard educated sophisticates while suspecting Hoover little more than a rube believing horse racing and mud wrestling were the essence of the fine arts, they never had a chance. You see, like PT-109, they sank themselves even before taking office.

From April 6, 1945 until January 30, 1953, there was a radio program called, “This is your FBI,” and its theme music, “The Love for Three Oranges,” was written by prize winning Soviet composer, Sergei Prokofiev. Well, both Joseph Stalin and Sergei Prokofiev died on the same day, [March 5th 1953] and as an agent watched Hoover reading Stalin’s obituary, he mentioned that the composer of the FBI shows theme music had died that same day. When it slipped out that the composer was not only a Soviet citizen but had won the Lenin Prize for music, Hoover simply exploded. Classical music, it seems, was not his biggie.

Crooner, Frank Sinatra, was proud of his social connections for he not only knew Old Joe Kennedy, he was also on drinking-buddy terms with Sam Giancana, one America’s most powerful mafia bosses, and the man who owned Chicago’s underworld. 
Joe Kennedy and Sam Giancana were only known to have met once, and Sinatra may have been involved in setting up that meeting where Joe asked for the crime boss’s help in getting his son elected president in 1960. The fun in all this is that it was the Kennedy brothers that had given organized crime so much heat just years before when Jack was a senator on the McClellan Committee, and Bobbie was one of the committee’s mouthier lawyers.

This Senate committee was set up in 1957 to investigate organized crime after a raid on mob boss, “Joe the Barber,” Barbara’s home [11/14/57 in Apalachin, New York] resulted in the arrest of about 100 crime kingpins. It was this event that finally forced Hoover to admit that, just maybe, such a thing as organized crime existed. This, of course, begs the question: ‘What did the mob have on Hoover?’ For it ignores the fact that Hoover absolutely had to know about organized crime, for during W.W. II both the army and navy had extensive dealings with the imprisoned mafia boss, “Lucky” Luciano: The navy to secure the Port of New York from sabotage, and the army in getting help for their invasion of Sicily.

Well, Jack carried Giancana’s Cook County, and with it Illinois, and with that, won one of the closest presidential elections in modern times, and Sam felt the president ‘owed him,’ especially since by most accounts, the county’s results had been fixed. And to keep track of how he was doing, he tapped his mole in the White House. You see, Frank Sinatra had introduced a lady of questionable virtue named Judith Campbell to both JFK and Sam Giancana, and both had begun testing the ‘questionable’ part with Jack’s affair beginning about three years before his election. After Jack’s inauguration, Sam promoted her to his White House snitch in chief. 



From that day in 1924 when J. Edgar Hoover became the sixth director of the Bureau of Investigation, he frequently reported directly to the President of the United States. When Roosevelt took over in 1933, Hoover usually reported to the president, and this continued under Presidents Truman and Eisenhower, but in 1961, the Kennedys changed all that. Under them, Hoover would report to, and only to, Attorney General, Robert Kennedy, a man who hadn’t even been born when Hoover first took over the agency. [Hoover was a New Year’s baby born on January 1, 1895. Robert Kennedy was born on 11/20/25.]
The 66-year-old Hoover was being forced to deal with a 35-year-old that he hated and referred to among his staff as, “the snot.” Then Hoover was informed that, while the Attorney General would address him as Edgar, he would address his boss as, General. And while this may have caused Hoover to seethe a bit, the Kennedy / Giancana situation soon put all the power back in his hands, for during March of 1962, Hoover lunched with the president where he presented him with incontrovertible proof that Judith Campbell was not only bedding Sam Giancana, Sam was also boning another Kennedy ‘acquaintance’ picked up through Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe. [She once told a friend that JFK was so busy he never had time for foreplay.] But these were bonus items, the real question for that lunch was, how was the bureau to handle a potential impending disaster created by none other than The General himself.
You see, Bobby Kennedy had held a press conference to announce that he was about to start another drive against organized crime — and most were guessing that Sam would be near or even possibly at the top of the list — and the question was, how should Hoover act? For even someone as dense as the President knew that if Sam were truly pissed, his revenge could be awesome. Even if he only suspected he’d been double-crossed, he might order up an assassination or two, and if he did, who could stop them from being carried out? This plus the two totally illegal kidnappings and deportations of New Orleans Mafia Don, Carlos Marcello, by the General the previous year [see following pages] are the foundation of many theories on the brothers’ assassinations, and while I don’t take sides on that question, I do sometimes ask myself, “So, where’s Jimmy Hoffa?” 
Hoover had the president in his pocket, and Jack not only knew it, he knew there was no way of ever lassoing him back into the corral. Especially when you consider that the presidentially induced Marilyn Monroe mess was about to impose itself on the entire cast of characters.

Shortly into JFK’s administration, a phone rang in the private quarters of the White House, and Jackie Kennedy picked it up to hear a giggling Marilyn Monroe say something like, ‘Oops! Sorry, hah, hah, hah.’ 
Both parties hung up quickly, but only one had smoke coming out of her ears. Jackie had long known about the president’s peccadillos, but there’s a big difference between knowing about them and having your face rubbed in them. So while what Jackie told the president is not known, we know exactly what he did next: he instantly ordered the White House switchboard to stop forwarding calls from Miss Monroe. Then he began to sweat. 
Marilyn liked alcohol, was probably on drugs, and was definitely nuts. What to do, what to do? Knowing all this, Hoover began needling the General by mentioning that Miss Monroe kept a diary in which she noted all of her meetings, phone calls, and, uh, conversations. Ouch! The cat was nearly out of the bag.
Bobby ran to tell the president that Hoover was not only clocking Monroe, he was also hinting that he knew exactly what was going on and spoke of her having a diary in which she was seemingly documenting everything. A diary that could destroy them if it ever got out.
It was no accident that, on August 5, 1962 when Marilyn was found dead — and this was only five months after the president had been told of the Monroe / Giancana dalliance — it was suggested that the Kennedy’s had something to do with her death, and why not? Robert Kennedy was not only in California at the time, he was so close to her apartment that he was one of the very first people on the scene after radio reports of her death were announced. Coincidence?

One book suggests that Monroe was murdered by Sam Giancana’s mob at Bobby Kennedy’s request. You decide if it’s real. 

http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=sam+giancana&view=detail&id=8A7740DB3FAF4E1C66764278908D3AA7F490173A&first=1378

You see, another book suggests that she spent the night before her death with Sam in Frank Sinatra’s Lake Tahoe lodge. Both books could be right of course, but wouldn’t that sort of make Sam the SOB of the year?

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1381431/Marilyn-Monroe-spent-night-mafia-boss-Sam-Giancana-Frank-Sinatras-lodge.html

And the infamous diary? Well, it seems to be missing. Then there were the contradictions in the autopsy report, and ...

If you really want to believe she was murdered, this one ties up a lot of the loose ends. It suggests that Bobby Kennedy showed up at her apartment demanding the diary, and when she refused to surrender it, he beat the crap out of her explaining the bruises on her corpse. Then he left to call Giancana and asked to have her finished off which Sam’s men did using a powerful narcotic enema. Thus explaining some of the anomalies in the autopsy, like no pill residue in her stomach when the official report said she died of a pill overdose. And a subset of this asks the question: why was Monroe’s extraordinarily nervous housekeeper, Eunice R. Murray, hurriedly doing laundry at three o’clock in the morning? Cleaning badly stained sheets perhaps? But because all this had taken time, Bobby show up to do a complete search of the place for the missing diary only after her death has been announced making his heading back to Washington as secretly as possible a bit problematic.
http://marilynmonroemurdered.com/evidence.htm

Kennedy’s relations with congress were always stilted as even members of his own party remembered him as a gadfly and charlatan. So it should come as no shock that not one of the major bills he sent to them: You know, Medicare, Medicaid, the Civil Rights Act, etc. passed. As you can see, JFK was in no position to challenge Hoover, but with Attorney General Robert Kennedy issuing the orders, Hoover actually became a Kennedy accomplice in crime. 

CHAPTER 8
Hoover vs. Robert Francis "Bobby" Kennedy


haven’t a clue. Perhaps as a sociopath he was just lying to keep in practice, but this gave another sociopath the excuse to cause him all sorts of problems. You see, even though Marcello was scheduled to be deported at the time the Kennedys took office, his high-powered lawyers had kept blocking execution of the order. So when Bobby had been in office a mere two months, he set in motion a plan to get rid of the gangster the Kennedy way, which is to say, since I am now the law, whatever I do is legal. [How delightfully Nixonesque.]
Knowing Marcello had to report regularly to the local Immigration office, Kennedy ordered Hoover to kidnap him there—and kidnap is the only applicable word, for what else would you call picking someone up off the street and detaining him incommunicado with neither a warrant nor probable cause? Isn’t this the definition of kidnapping? And once kidnapped, the FBI turned him over to the CIA who put him on a C-130 cargo plane which flew him to Guatemala where they literally pushed him off the plane’s loading ramp – at night – with nothing but the clothes on his back. 



Um, ah, it might not be that simple. You see, the “Little Man,” as he was called, he was only 5’2,” had special foot long pockets sewn into his trousers that were perpetually filled with wads of $100.00 bills so…

And while I suspect there was much jubilation in the justice department that day as they reveled in their gonzo performance, it didn’t last long, for just one month late, [April 4] Carlos was back in Louisiana and arrested again. 
Once more he was kidnaped, flown south, and dropped in the middle of one of Guatemala’s vast empty spaces, but it seems practice makes perfect, for he was back in Baton Rouge, Louisiana in less than two weeks where his crafty lawyers kept his stay in this country unmolested for the rest of his life. Possibly by threatening to go public with words like, “KIDNAPING!” 
It seems that neither Kennedy nor Hoover’s oath to uphold the laws of our country when they received their law licenses, or the similar oaths they took before entering office took. Our gangster legally thwarted the immigration department who kept trying to kick him out of the country, and because his methods upset the nation’s highest lawyer, the attorney general illegally used the power of his office to thwart the court’s decision and kicked the guy out of the country with no more judicial sanction than his own ego’s nodding approval. And Hoover’s going along with all this is obviously based on his thought that — if ever challenged —he was protected by the Nazi Defense: “I vas chust obeying orders!” See what I mean when I say the system is rotten from the top down? And let’s not forget the staggering cost of running a C-130 for those ego trips.
Why did Bobby choose one of the largest and most expensive-to-operate airplanes in the world to rid us of a 5’2” shrimp? Because the C-130 is virtually unique in being able to travel long distances, touchdown almost anywhere, dump its cargo without even stopping, then taking off leaving but the hint of a trace of its ever having been there, and that’s exactly what Kennedy wanted: to commit a crime while minimizing the evidence of his having done so. And just for laughs, you tell me: As this plane is powered by four 4,700 HP Rolls Royce engines, what would you suspect just the gas bill would be for these two ego inspired round trips? 
So, we have an Attorney General of the United States guilty of kidnapping— an offense punishable by death in many jurisdictions — and the head of the FBI an accessory before, during, and after the fact — the illegal detention of a man which is a felony everywhere, while simultaneously thumbing his nose at a judge’s order; illegally deporting a man from the country and dumping him in the middle of nowhere which could easily be looked upon as attempted murder; and all of this because the Attorney General doesn’t like a guy who made him look foolish at a senate hearing, and the head of the FBI going along because  he was, ‘just following orders?’ If a great criminal must be ascertained in all this, my vote says it’s a draw, yet, in the public’s eye, Marcello is the crook while the men that could have been executed for kidnapping him are thought of as the good guys merely doing their job. Truly we’ve become a nation of fools, but where did all this do-good crap get Bobby Kennedy? 
At The General’s murder, [died 6/6/68] his personal estate — money he’d earned himself as compared to that which he’d been given or would inherit — didn’t leave his pregnant widow and 10 kids enough to buy a roll of toilet paper. Yet he thought nothing of squandering millions of our tax dollars to get his jollies off punishing a petty crook. Instead of the presidency, this sociopath should have ended his days in jail. But do keep in mind that, like his brother’s widow, Jackie Kennedy, Bobbi’s widow, Ethel Skakel Kennedy, would be put on an allowance by mommy, Rose Kennedy. 
Mommy Dearest’s allowance for Jackie was interesting too. At a time when $25,000 a year was considered a damned good salary, the $175,000 a year Rose gave Jacky was so miniscule by her standards that she just had to marry Aristotle Onassis to keep her dressmakers paid. 
As you can see, Hoover had nothing to fear from any of the Kennedy boys, especially the last one, Teddy.

CHAPTER 9
Edward Moore "Ted" Kennedy

The least intellectual of a not overly bright lot, was Teddy, their youngest son. With no work ethic or drive to succeed, his very first semester at Harvard ended with his copying a science final’s answers from another student. Since that worked, he continued this Kennedyesque behavior in his second semester by having a friend take a Spanish Language final for him, but this time they got caught and both were expelled. But, as in most cases of this type, Harvard informed them that they could apply for readmission after demonstrating a year or so of good behavior. [Read, just don’t get caught.]
Then, on a trip to Chile in 1961, Teddy rented an entire brothel for a night’s amusement. As most of the Kennedy males, he thought of women as toys to be bought and sold for their immediate enjoyment. [Internet search is: Ted Kennedy Chile brothel]
His next world-class blunder occurred [July 18, 1969] when, returning home drunk from a meeting on Martha's Vineyard's Chappaquiddick Island, he drive his car off a bridge drowning his passenger, the 29-year-old teacher, Mary Jo Kopechne. 
Mary Jo had been working as a volunteer for the local Democratic Party, and it wasn’t until after her body was discovered the next morning that Teddy finally got around to calling the police. Why the delay? While Kennedy supporters offer numerous silly excuses for this illegal, immoral and fattening behavior, the most logical reason is the simplest: He was drunk-as-a-skunk and, on the advice of council, kept his mouth shut until he sobered up.
One week later, [July 25] he pleaded guilty to leaving the scene of an accident and received a two month jail sentence which, of course — his being a Kennedy and all — was suspended. That very night, he went on the air to say, “I regard as indefensible the fact that I did not report the accident to the police immediately.” 
Of course that’s what he said. If you love to hear the sound of your own voice and feel you must say something after creating a mess like this, what else could he say? But by 1978, he believed this was far enough behind him to run for president, and as his motorcade swung thought West Virginia, he told a companion in his car: “It’s easy! All you have to do is shake their hands and wave at them and they elect you president!” Wonderful.
Thankfully, the irrecoverable blow to his public persona came shortly after this during a press interview: When asked a question the village idiot should have prepared for, he blew it. 
“Why do you want to be President?” his questioner asked, and his response was what is known in the business as, dead air. He had no response, but rather sat there looking like the cipher he was!
As you can see, no Harvard graduate mentioned thus far could ever blow the whistle on Hoover — he would fearlessly keep his job during all their reigns.

A rhetorical question: On the basis of all this, how the hell did Harvard ever get a reputation for excellence? Except, perhaps, for their extraordinary talent in finding rich people’s dumb kids? Or, perhaps, for turning out future President’s of Mexico that insisted on retiring from office to the local hoosegow?



The Kennedys expanded Hoover’s power to its absolute limit, for adding kidnapping to the list of things he could get away was hard to beat. I mean, where else could he go? Crucifixion? Immolation? He would spend his last years expanding the acceptance of his illegal activities by polishing his agency’s image. And when those doing the evaluating aren’t very bright, Brasso can even make base metals look like gold. 

APPENDIX 1

ROOSEVELT REVALUES GOLD



If you owed someone in Europe $700, and they deposited your check in their European bank on the day Roosevelt took office, that bank would credit their account with an amount of the local currency worth 35 ounces of gold: that is, 700/20 = 35 i.e. the 700 dollars owed, divided by the $20, price of gold in Troy ounces, equals the amount of ounces of gold value received. But mere weeks later, that same European bank would take that same check, but only credit their account with local currency worth only 20 ounces of gold: That is, 700/35=20. That is, the debt of $700 is now divided by the new value put on gold, $35 per Troy ounce meaning that they only received 20 ounces of gold equivalent in their own currency meaning they got screwed out of the value of 15 ounces of gold or $300! 
But, a European debtor sending you a check to cover any debt owed you would be credited to your account for exactly the same dollar amount either before or after the Roosevelt recall hence, in terms of gold, you’d lose money too.
How did this help Roosevelt? While it’s doubtful that he understand much of the above, it allowed him — at least in his own mind — to print $15 worth of paper money for each ounce of gold collected because it was assumed that there was already $20 worth of paper in circulation for every ounce of gold we had, hence, he thought, after the revaluation his adding the additional $15 which he could use as spare change wouldn’t hurt the value of the dollar.
Mark Twain defined a gold mine as: “A hole in the ground with a liar at the bottom.” World bankers though much the same of Roosevelt after this outright theft.

APPENDIX 2
CHARLIE CHAPLIN’S BLOOD TYPE

Each person’s blood type comes in two parts called alleles. One half comes from our mother, and the other half from our father meaning that, if your blood is type AB, one of your parents must have contributed the type A component and the other parent, the type B. That’s just the way God made us and there’s no way around it. But a person with blood type O has an allele set of OO and can only pass on the O allele to their offspring. This case fell into that combination that is proof positive that Chaplin could not possibly be the biological father for the kid was type AB and Charlie’s was type O
To contribute type A to a child your blood type must be: AA, AO, or AB. To contribute type B, your blood type must be: BB, BO, or AB. But because a person with blood type O can only contribute that allele, it precludes their chance of ever being the parent of a child with type AB blood. 

“America’s Gestapo, the FBI”
Arthur W. Ritchie
Copyright 2013 By Arthur W. Ritchie
Smashwords Edition