The Oswald Tapes.
By
Richard.A.Patterson
The Oswald Tapes is a satire.
This is a fictional work inspired by the imaginary premise that tapes were found that held a spoken diary of Lee Harvey Oswald. All supposed extracts from and histories of it exist only for the fictional word that the novel is set in. This novel infers no real or actual guilt to any individuals, living or deceased or of any wrongdoing.
It is dedicated to Fitzgerald Kennedy (May 29, 1917 – November 22, 1963). He was one of the good guys.
Below is a part of my novel, subject to copyright 2021.
[A twenty-two year old, Swedish, female auctioneer assistant copied the contents of the audio diary down and released them, anonymously, using only the initials D.M
She worked in the cataloguing department of a prestigious Geneva auction house. The extracts were released as part of a 2020 disclosure hack by whistleblowers on a suppressed government police raid on a Belgium crime syndicate dealing with selling fakes of master painters.
The extracts are said by D.M to be copied close to verbatim. There are intentional changes for consistence and readability. This includes changes that render metric measurements. The tapes appeared briefly, in the summer of 2013, on an auctioneer’s list of other marked items. The reserve for it was $320,000 at a prestigious Geneva house. The tapes did not go under the hammer. It was last known to have gone an unknown New York, private buyer.
The tapes are recordings by Lee Harvey Oswald, who is alleged to have shot the President and Texas Governor Connolly in Dallas in 1963. It was part of a deceased estate of a Hollywood movie mogul. There are ten tapes and were all made by Oswald in private. They were recorded on an old portable Dictaphone that was thrown out where Oswald worked. He recovered and used his skills in radios to repair it.]
She worked in the cataloguing department of a prestigious Geneva auction house. The extracts were released as part of a 2020 disclosure hack by whistleblowers on a suppressed government police raid on a Belgium crime syndicate dealing with selling fakes of master painters.
The extracts are said by D.M to be copied close to verbatim. There are intentional changes for consistence and readability. This includes changes that render metric measurements. The tapes appeared briefly, in the summer of 2013, on an auctioneer’s list of other marked items. The reserve for it was $320,000 at a prestigious Geneva house. The tapes did not go under the hammer. It was last known to have gone an unknown New York, private buyer.
The tapes are recordings by Lee Harvey Oswald, who is alleged to have shot the President and Texas Governor Connolly in Dallas in 1963. It was part of a deceased estate of a Hollywood movie mogul. There are ten tapes and were all made by Oswald in private. They were recorded on an old portable Dictaphone that was thrown out where Oswald worked. He recovered and used his skills in radios to repair it.]
Witten copies of lost voice recordings of Lee Harvey Oswald now deceased. Made in the 72 hours prior to the lethal shooting of President Kennedy made on Oswald’s Dictaphone, weighing 2 kilograms, and a bundle of ten audiotapes used with that device.
The location of both Dictaphone and the tapes are unknown. The last known location was on Oswald’s person up to his entering the Dallas Texas Theater, after the shootings President Kennedy, Texas Governor Connally and a Dallas police patrol officer, named Tippet.
The last person, who could have retrieved Oswald’s items before he was arrested and searched, was a pregnant woman that he had sat next to during the film, just before the police arrived and arrested him. The woman slipped past the police cordon around the theater. Her identity and whereabouts is still a mystery.
Signed D.M. 2020.
TAPE 1.
Copy of Oswald Voice Recordings.
DAY ONE:
12:10 am, Tuesday the 19th of November 1963.
My Name is Lee Harvey Oswald. I reside at 1026 North Beckley in Lake Cliff. I have a small room, one of sixteen others, in a renovated old, 1930’s medical clinic and examination rooms. The rooms are only let to white, single males. I have been living here for three weeks. Previous to this, I lived with my wife, Marina and my family, at a house owned by a female friend of hers in Irving.
I have just eaten lunch near the windows of the southeast corner of the 6th floor of the Texas School Book Depository in downtown Dallas. Our building overlooks the ornate park of Dealey Plaza.
Earlier today, I found some of the men in the common room, talking of the details of in the news of the Presidential visit to Dallas this coming Friday. The papers had been hinting at it from early spring an two weeks ago, the papers had detailed the visit and the itinerary.
I began work at the binders place, five weeks ago from today. I have spent my time keeping my head down, eating away from the office staff with the Negros. Indoctrinating the requite was not a problem with barely an inconvenience
Inside today’s paper, the Dallas Morning News, I read that the president will be in passing the bookbinders where I work. The paper has also printed a street map showing the route of the motorcade and that the President will be only a few meters from our building in Elm Street, on 22nd of November at about lunchtime. I began work at the binders place, five weeks ago from today. I have spent my time keeping my head down, eating away from the office staff with the Negros. Indoctrinating the subject was not a problem with barely any inconvenience.
Her name is Clarissa Rowland. She is a white American woman, who is pregnant and almost full term. She is naive, at aged 20, barely out of puberty. Clarissa is plain, and nondescript in appearance, but her belly is showing through maternity dress. She is others of plain of appearance. Clarissa, a country girl, is impressionable, appears docile, and lives an otherwise slavish existence for her husband, JR Christian Rowland. It has been much easier and faster to have her be in accord with my cause than I have had with Marina since that one summer in Minsk.
In the last fortnight, her and I made sexual congress in the exact storage room, where I will have her fire at the President. The room is beneath me while I’m speaking right now. Six levels down, on the ground floor. Besides front the steps.
The storage room, with the lights out, is vey dim and lit by the latticework of cement bricks. Light from outside on Elm Street, makes a soft helter-skelter patterns of light and dark on the storage room walls and on the empty laundry carts and book bins stored there. Now and again, among the muted traffic, we can hear a US postal van as it stops for mail at the two US postboxes a few feet from the room’s windows hidden behind the breezeblock.
I have essentially four day’s to have everything ready for her to shoot twice into the president, killing him from this small storage, tucked under the stairwell to the upper floors and the foyer entrance. When the parade is about to go past, she will leave her office friends using the pretense of, feeling a little unwell and wanting to get a glass of water from the cistern near the 2nd floor lunchroom. Instead, of taking the stairs to the 2nd floor, she will instead duck into the storage room.
She will use the better rifle for taking the lethal shots. I will have hidden before Friday, at the bottom of an empty bin. Ready for my gunfire, as I give the signal from the 6th floor, and with its muzzle placed in a gap of the breezeblock and open window she will fire twice. I have already selected the brick in the wall best to fix it to an angle most fit to shoot the President. I have measured that bullet should strike the upper torso or above as the president’s limousine drives away, northeast from shooter’s nest. I have already described my full plan to her and she has consented to partaking in the mission and help frame each other’s alibis.
She will fire, reload another bullet cartridge and fire again. She will drop the rifle in the nearest empty bin, leave the room, and exit the building at the front entrance on Elm Street and let herself get lost in the crowd.
Upon the mission, being successful we have already agreed on a time and place, a large movie theater, to make sure we have our stories straight.
She works as the trusted secretary for the manager of our building at work. She is beyond suspicion. Yet she will be ready to lock the rifle in place at the right brick and hold it tightly wedge in the gap of the 7.5-centimeter thick cement that makes up the breezeblock wall surrounding most exterior sides of the bookbinder’s street level, ground floor.
Tomorrow, I need to smuggle in her rifle and on Thursday to smuggle in the decoy rifle which will signal her when to shoot. The President is planned to be passing my work at midday, Friday, just when all of us are about to break for lunch. I have only that morning to bring in a pair of walkie-talkies. I will have them wrapped and pass the package off as new curtain rods for my apartment. We will only have a few minutes to demonstrate how to use them.
The paper said that today more than 200,00 people will go to line the streets and see the President and the Dallas Governor and their wives pass by in a car. The route had been chosen to provide the parade crowd as many opportunities as possible to see the President. Government propaganda is shown by big street parades in all major cities, by both the Soviets and the Americans.
The Dallas papers have been hinting of a presidential visit since spring this year. Although most people are excited at the prospect of seeing their leader, it comes as no surprise. Most people were expecting such an announcement.
I am very eager to get back to work, having just had lunh, today and speak to Clarissa under the usual premise of asking for some change for the coke machine in the Whites only lunchroom besides her offices on the 2nd floor.
Clarissa’s desk is across from the passenger elevator in a pool of desks set in two facing parallel rows, across the front half of the 2nd floor. Beside this open space is the partitioned room of the manager who she works directly for along with another woman. Clarissa’s desk hold the petty cash box, where employs can swap notes for change to use with the vending machines, in the lunch room across from the manager’s office.
I first met Clare, (Clarissa] on October the 18th. When I had my Friday pay with me and wanted a cola from the drink machine. We spoke briefly and, because my wife was due to have a baby girl any day, and she was obviously pregnant, it was easy to talk to her. My daughter, Audrey was born two days later, on the 20th of October. From the start, we had a lot in common to talk about. Because Clair is with the office girls, she eats in the 2md floor lunchroom. It is better in all ways to the Domino room for the black and menial workers like me with my job in filing and packing book orders. At first once a week and very soon twice a week Clair and I would leave work separately, and meet on clandestine lunches at a café, two blocks south, in the heart of downtown.
First, our conversation was on the shared topic of babies, but I soon confided in her that Marina and I had fought upon moving to Dallas and we are recently separated. Clair complained about the boredom of her domestic life and the burden of having to return to being a full time mother when her baby was born at around Christmas and the prospect of raising two small children with the loss of her position and income. Really, I did it to just distract her, but told her of one of my time in Russia and Mexico which seemed to fascinate her. Then it came to me that I could recruit her. Bring her into my plans to kill Connolly, whom I despise, for betraying me over the Soviet defection and if she can fire the second bullet too, the President and chief of those who represent capitalism.
I have been given a 2nd chance. My bullet I fired at that fascist, Walker in April, missed, but this time I will set it up so even an office girl can do it. I have to go now, and get back to work. I had ham and corn on white bread for lunch. No relish.
Witten copies of lost voice recordings of Lee Harvey Oswald now deceased. Made in the 72 hours prior to the lethal shooting of President Kennedy made on Oswald’s Dictaphone, weighing 2 kilograms, and a bundle of ten audiotapes used with that device.
The location of both Dictaphone and the tapes are unknown. The last known location was on Oswald’s person up to his entering the Dallas Texas Theater, after the shootings President Kennedy, Texas Governor Connally and a Dallas police patrol officer, named Tippet.
The last person, who could have retrieved Oswald’s items before he was arrested and searched, was a pregnant woman that he had sat next to during the film, just before the police arrived and arrested him. The woman slipped past the police cordon around the theater. Her identity and whereabouts is still a mystery.
Signed D.M. 2020.
TAPE 1.
Copy of Oswald Voice Recordings.
DAY ONE:
12:10 am, Tuesday the 19th of November 1963.
My Name is Lee Harvey Oswald. I reside at 1026 North Beckley in Lake Cliff. I have a small room, one of sixteen others, in a renovated old, 1930’s medical clinic and examination rooms. The rooms are only let to white, single males. I have been living here for three weeks. Previous to this, I lived with my wife, Marina and my family, at a house owned by a female friend of hers in Irving.
I have just eaten lunch near the windows of the southeast corner of the 6th floor of the Texas School Book Depository in downtown Dallas. Our building overlooks the ornate park of Dealey Plaza.
Earlier today, I found some of the men in the common room, talking of the details of in the news of the Presidential visit to Dallas this coming Friday. The papers had been hinting at it from early spring an two weeks ago, the papers had detailed the visit and the itinerary.
I began work at the binders place, five weeks ago from today. I have spent my time keeping my head down, eating away from the office staff with the Negros. Indoctrinating the requite was not a problem with barely an inconvenience
Inside today’s paper, the Dallas Morning News, I read that the president will be in passing the bookbinders where I work. The paper has also printed a street map showing the route of the motorcade and that the President will be only a few meters from our building in Elm Street, on 22nd of November at about lunchtime. I began work at the binders place, five weeks ago from today. I have spent my time keeping my head down, eating away from the office staff with the Negros. Indoctrinating the subject was not a problem with barely any inconvenience.
Her name is Clarissa Rowland. She is a white American woman, who is pregnant and almost full term. She is naive, at aged 20, barely out of puberty. Clarissa is plain, and nondescript in appearance, but her belly is showing through maternity dress. She is others of plain of appearance. Clarissa, a country girl, is impressionable, appears docile, and lives an otherwise slavish existence for her husband, JR Christian Rowland. It has been much easier and faster to have her be in accord with my cause than I have had with Marina since that one summer in Minsk.
In the last fortnight, her and I made sexual congress in the exact storage room, where I will have her fire at the President. The room is beneath me while I’m speaking right now. Six levels down, on the ground floor. Besides front the steps.
The storage room, with the lights out, is vey dim and lit by the latticework of cement bricks. Light from outside on Elm Street, makes a soft helter-skelter patterns of light and dark on the storage room walls and on the empty laundry carts and book bins stored there. Now and again, among the muted traffic, we can hear a US postal van as it stops for mail at the two US postboxes a few feet from the room’s windows hidden behind the breezeblock.
I have essentially four day’s to have everything ready for her to shoot twice into the president, killing him from this small storage, tucked under the stairwell to the upper floors and the foyer entrance. When the parade is about to go past, she will leave her office friends using the pretense of, feeling a little unwell and wanting to get a glass of water from the cistern near the 2nd floor lunchroom. Instead, of taking the stairs to the 2nd floor, she will instead duck into the storage room.
She will use the better rifle for taking the lethal shots. I will have hidden before Friday, at the bottom of an empty bin. Ready for my gunfire, as I give the signal from the 6th floor, and with its muzzle placed in a gap of the breezeblock and open window she will fire twice. I have already selected the brick in the wall best to fix it to an angle most fit to shoot the President. I have measured that bullet should strike the upper torso or above as the president’s limousine drives away, northeast from shooter’s nest. I have already described my full plan to her and she has consented to partaking in the mission and help frame each other’s alibis.
She will fire, reload another bullet cartridge and fire again. She will drop the rifle in the nearest empty bin, leave the room, and exit the building at the front entrance on Elm Street and let herself get lost in the crowd.
Upon the mission, being successful we have already agreed on a time and place, a large movie theater, to make sure we have our stories straight.
She works as the trusted secretary for the manager of our building at work. She is beyond suspicion. Yet she will be ready to lock the rifle in place at the right brick and hold it tightly wedge in the gap of the 7.5-centimeter thick cement that makes up the breezeblock wall surrounding most exterior sides of the bookbinder’s street level, ground floor.
Tomorrow, I need to smuggle in her rifle and on Thursday to smuggle in the decoy rifle which will signal her when to shoot. The President is planned to be passing my work at midday, Friday, just when all of us are about to break for lunch. I have only that morning to bring in a pair of walkie-talkies. I will have them wrapped and pass the package off as new curtain rods for my apartment. We will only have a few minutes to demonstrate how to use them.
The paper said that today more than 200,00 people will go to line the streets and see the President and the Dallas Governor and their wives pass by in a car. The route had been chosen to provide the parade crowd as many opportunities as possible to see the President. Government propaganda is shown by big street parades in all major cities, by both the Soviets and the Americans.
The Dallas papers have been hinting of a presidential visit since spring this year. Although most people are excited at the prospect of seeing their leader, it comes as no surprise. Most people were expecting such an announcement.
I am very eager to get back to work, having just had lunh, today and speak to Clarissa under the usual premise of asking for some change for the coke machine in the Whites only lunchroom besides her offices on the 2nd floor.
Clarissa’s desk is across from the passenger elevator in a pool of desks set in two facing parallel rows, across the front half of the 2nd floor. Beside this open space is the partitioned room of the manager who she works directly for along with another woman. Clarissa’s desk hold the petty cash box, where employs can swap notes for change to use with the vending machines, in the lunch room across from the manager’s office.
I first met Clare, (Clarissa] on October the 18th. When I had my Friday pay with me and wanted a cola from the drink machine. We spoke briefly and, because my wife was due to have a baby girl any day, and she was obviously pregnant, it was easy to talk to her. My daughter, Audrey was born two days later, on the 20th of October. From the start, we had a lot in common to talk about. Because Clair is with the office girls, she eats in the 2md floor lunchroom. It is better in all ways to the Domino room for the black and menial workers like me with my job in filing and packing book orders. At first once a week and very soon twice a week Clair and I would leave work separately, and meet on clandestine lunches at a café, two blocks south, in the heart of downtown.
First, our conversation was on the shared topic of babies, but I soon confided in her that Marina and I had fought upon moving to Dallas and we are recently separated. Clair complained about the boredom of her domestic life and the burden of having to return to being a full time mother when her baby was born at around Christmas and the prospect of raising two small children with the loss of her position and income. Really, I did it to just distract her, but told her of one of my time in Russia and Mexico which seemed to fascinate her. Then it came to me that I could recruit her. Bring her into my plans to kill Connolly, whom I despise, for betraying me over the Soviet defection and if she can fire the second bullet too, the President and chief of those who represent capitalism.
I have been given a 2nd chance. My bullet I fired at that fascist, Walker in April, missed, but this time I will set it up so even an office girl can do it. I have to go now, and get back to work. I had ham and corn on white bread for lunch. No relish.
Images resource for the, Oswald Tapes.
Copyright © Richard Patterson (2021)
The right of Richard Patterson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
The right of Richard Patterson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages