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Philip Gross

JFK, Jack Ruby, and Me

A group of rabbis present a Torah scroll to President Kennedy that belonged to Isaac M. Wise founder of American Reformed Judaism .
A group of rabbis present a Torah scroll to President Kennedy that belonged to Isaac M. Wise founder of American Reformed Judaism .

Last week’s executive order by President Trump to finally release the classified files on the JFK assassination led me to reflect on my own personal connections to this cataclysmic event. Although I was not alive in 1963, so I have a rock-solid alibi, the assassination still loomed larger than life in my childhood, shaping countless conversations and a cultural touchstone.

While growing up, the unresolved mystery surrounding President John Kennedy’s death was a topic of endless debate amongst adults and kids alike, inevitably accompanied by the now-famous question, “Where were you when Kennedy was shot?” It was obvious even to a kid that this was an event that had permanently scarred the American psyche. The trauma transcended all politics and left visible marks on the collective consciousness of America that remain to this very day.

I am old enough that I can recall when John Lennon, Ronald Reagan, and the Pope were all shot within an extremely dramatic six-month period. At the time, I lived just down the street from where John Lennon was assassinated, and while these events were disruptive for a child, for the adults they evoked a sense of dreaded déjà vu. The shadow of JFK’s untimely demise loomed large over each new act of high-profile violence, reopening wounds that had never actually healed and were always lurking just beneath the surface.

The lingering obsession with the JFK assassination can somewhat be attributed to his youth, vibrancy, and the Camelot fairytale, but it was the unprecedented public spectacle of his death that was most impactful. This was the first nationally televised assassination of an American president, broadcast into homes across the world in real time. That was compounded by the enigma surrounding this chapter and the glaring lack of closure that has kept the embers of curiosity burning for over 60 years.

Despite the Warren Commission’s exhaustive report, multiple investigations, and countless documentaries, JFK’s death refuses to fade into the sunset of history. Everything about that day in Dallas has spawned an industry of conspiracy theories, endlessly feeding a nation starved for a rational explanation. Was Oswald acting alone? Was there a second shooter? Why did Jack Ruby kill Oswald before he could talk? What is a grassy knoll? What is a book depository? These questions still ignite fervent debates and continue to fester without satisfaction.

This is in total contrast with Lennon, Reagan, and the Pope; these cases were open-and-shut without further mystery. The motives, though irrational, were clear: a fan’s obsession with The Catcher in the Rye, impressing Jodie Foster, and anti-Catholic sentiment. These stories ended with the perpetrator’s confession and incarceration. As a side note, all three shooters are still alive today, and two of them have already finished their sentences and are living as free men.

My connection to JFK’s assassination is not just cultural; there is also a strong personal connection. As a young kid in yeshiva, I recall a heated playground debate about the grassy knoll and the possibility of a second shooter. One of our classmates, Dovid Aschkenasy, insisted that his father had definitive and irrefutable proof of another shooter. We naturally dismissed him out of hand, on the assumption that Dovid’s daddy was just another adult pontificating on a national mystery, and Dovid was guilty of parroting.

Imagine my complete and utter shock, decades later, when visiting the “Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza” and coming face to face with an exhibit dedicated entirely to Dovid’s father, Ernest Aschkenasy. It turns out he was a leading acoustics expert who testified before the House Select Committee on Assassinations in 1978, refuting the Warren Commission findings. Through scientific acoustic evidence, he testified to the presence of a second shooter on the grassy knoll.

Dovid’s father testifying before Congress

Testimony Transcript    Video of Testimony

What was truly fascinating about our visit to the Book Depository was the impact the whole story had on my English-raised children who were born many decades after that fateful day. I had assumed this was going to be one of those dreaded cultural stops where they complain about the lack of a functional zip line. In fact, they were obsessed with the entire story from start to finish, and I literally had to drag them out of the museum at the end of the tour.

My second personal connection comes from a less likely source, my dear Bubby, of blessed memory. Bubby is buried in Chicago’s Westlawn Cemetery, directly under O’Hare’s flight path. During our annual cross-country drives, we always make a point of stopping by to pay our respects.  A couple of summers ago, my kids were exploring the nearby graves and imagined their surprise in discovering the grave of one Harry Potter. This was difficult to reconcile as they were under the impression that Harry had survived his fateful encounter with “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named”.

The real plot twist, though, was that just a few plots over, and not 100 feet from our dear Bubby, we found the final resting place of none other than the infamous Jack Ruby.

The man who shot Oswald in cold blood on national television grew up in Chicago, the son of Jewish immigrants. His role in the whole JFK saga remains one of the most puzzling and inexplicable. Ruby was just a small-time nightclub owner with alleged ties to the mob, and somehow, he managed to gain access to Oswald in a secured police garage. Oswald was being transferred at the time when Ruby killed him in full view of the cameras. Keep in mind that this was only two days after the JFK assassination, so presumably Oswald had not yet been fully interrogated as to his motives, or had he?

Ruby insisted that he shot Oswald only so he could spare Jackie Kennedy the agony of a trial. This was wildly at odds with his character as nothing in his background indicated a passionate avenger with a strong streak of chivalry and patriotism. His perplexing motives and the fact that he was already terminally ill with nothing to lose, has only managed to heighten the intrigue, and like all things Kennedy, you are left with more questions than answers.

It has become a sacred family custom that after visiting Bubby’s grave to make a quick detour at Ruby’s grave, where we say a prayer for his soul and for the soul of America. For as long as the truth stays obscured, America is still haunted by this event, and without any clarity, healing is impossible.

What can possibly be so damning that it has taken more than 60 years for the government to finally release the remaining Kennedy files? Why were we not trusted with the truth until now? The lingering mystery has only served to fester and breed distrust, exacerbated by speculation. America rightfully deserves answers, and not just for the sake of setting the record straight, but to restore our faith in the institutions that claim to serve us.

With the release of these files, we can hopefully finally confront the ghosts of Dealey Plaza and move forward. That being said, if we have learnt anything from this protracted tale, it is that nothing about it has ever been as it might appear.

For the record, and for what it is worth,  after standing at the window in the book depository and visiting Dealey Plaza, my kids are convinced there was another shooter.

“The day they blew out the brains of the king, thousands were watching, no one saw a thing.” — Bob Dylan – “Murder Most Foul”

Shayale Gross on the x spot in Dealey Plaza in front of the grassy knoll and outside the book depository
About the Author
Manhattan born, London native, straddling both sides of the Atlantic with limited success in either. Mostly proud father of nine. Non denominational orthodox although occasional sinner. Business executive.
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