The Sr. suffix in my name means I’ve been around a length of time that allows me to have vivid memories of what this generation might call historical. To me, the images etched into my mind that awful day in November allow me to not only remember but also reflect in the years that followed what really happened. I’m leaving it up to the individual reader as to what he or she might think took place on or around the infamous grassy knoll almost sixty years ago.

Then one day while I was sitting on my patio a phone call changed everything I knew, had given thought to, or cast aside as just me and my incessant curiosity. The individual agreed to meet, he gave me his reason for wanting to see me, gave me something that his client wanted me to have, and now as a result of that call and meeting there is this book.

Whether you decide it’s fact or fiction, all I have tried to do is put something out in the conversation which offers a different point of view, a conspiracy which seems so incredible that in of itself has to be fiction . . . or not. If nothing else, I hope it makes those of you who are interested in what really happened to ask questions, and never let the memories of that day die.