CHAPTER 1

Monday, November 18, 1963

On a chilly, wet Monday morning in the quiet residentialneighborhood of Oak Cliff, a few miles southwest ofdowntown Dallas, Lee Harvey Oswald arose early asusual. He opened the French doors of his small room, which wasno bigger than a large closet, and stumbled barefoot down the coldhallway floor of the rooming house. Oswald was rather small inbuild, barely five foot nine inches and less than 150 pounds, buthe was wiry and deceptively strong. His deep-blue eyes set off hisordinary looks, and although he was only twenty-four years old,his light-brown hair was already thinning.

Now he had to call his wife, Marina, from the telephone heshared with the other tenants of the rooming house. The Oswaldswere living apart; their marriage had been a difficult, sometimeseven violent one ever since they arrived in the United States theyear before. Oswald was ashamed that he had been unable toprovide a decent living for his wife and their two young daughters,two-year-old June and one-month-old Rachel, who lived with theirmother six miles away in Irving, Texas. There, they shared a housewith Marina's only real friend, Ruth Paine, who was also separatedfrom her husband, and her own two young children.

When Marina finally answered the phone, she was sleepy butalready upset and angry with her husband. "Where were you lastnight, Lee?" she demanded in her native Russian. "I called thenumber you gave me for emergencies, and a lady told me there wasno Lee Oswald living there. What's going on? Where are you?"

"I'm at the rooming house, and I was here last night," said Leein his broken Russian, the only language he used when speakingto his wife and children. "That was Mrs. Roberts you talked to, mylandlady. I told you never to call me here, only in emergencies. Whydid you call? Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to talk to you. I felt badbecause you didn't come by this past weekend to see me and thegirls."

Marina only included herself to be polite. She did not really loveLee anymore, and he didn't love her either. They had both comefrom broken homes and were so lonely that they needed each other;she needed him because she was a foreigner and he was the fatherof her children, and he needed her because she was the only oneleft who could tolerate him.

"I know you were upset, Lee, but why did your landlady tell meyou didn't live there?"

"Because I used another name," Lee confessed.

Marina paused. "What name?"

"O. H. Lee."

Marina became incensed again. "But why did you do that? Howwas I to know? Why do you need another name?"

Now Oswald's anger began to rise. He did not like explaininghimself. "I didn't want the FBI to know where I lived, that's why.Don't you understand?"

"No, no. I don't understand. That's crazy. The FBI isn't lookingfor you, Lee. When will all your foolishness end? First, it's onething, then another, and now it's this fictitious name. Please stopall this, please. You're a father of two small children. This has tostop," demanded Marina.

But Oswald was not listening. The last thing he wanted nowwas to fight with his wife. Their relationship had improved slightlysince his return from Mexico City in early October when he hadattempted to defect to Cuba, but his improved attitude towardhis wife and their marriage was a mask; it was not because he haddecided to be a better husband and father but because of the guilthe felt for his recent affair with a woman he met while he was inMexico City. Their affair was brief, but it had made a significantimpact on Oswald. It was not surprising then that before longhe again became distracted and indifferent to Marina and theirmarriage, and they began to live apart when he went to work inDallas. And now he was angry that Marina had found out abouthis alias.

"You're wrong," Lee insisted. "The FBI is interested in whereI am. I know they keep track of me. They visited you twice a fewweeks ago and asked you about me, didn't they?"

"Yes, but you know I didn't tell them anything because I don'tknow where you live or what your address is. All I had was thistelephone number, and I didn't give it to them," said Marina.

"Well, that's good," said Lee, "because I don't want thembothering me or Mrs. Roberts and asking questions. If she knowsthe FBI is interested in me, she'll tell me to leave. You know whatthe FBI is like. It's like the gestapo."

"No, I don't know. The men who came here just asked questionsand left. The FBI is not interested in you anymore, and they're notfollowing you now. You're just imagining all this. They interviewedyou twice before because you defected and then returned; that'sall," Marina pleaded with her husband.

"No. You're wrong," Lee said. "If they knew I lived here, theywould come here, too, and only make trouble for me."

"Lee, please stop thinking like that. They told me they wouldnot bother you."

"Marina, I don't want to argue with you. Just promise me thatif they come to see you again, you won't tell them anything. I wantto be left alone. Promise me, okay?"

"Yes, of course, I promise. You know I wouldn't tell themanything. But when are you going to stop all this craziness? You'rescaring me," said Marina.

Her husband did not want to talk anymore. "Marina, everythingwill be better soon, but don't call here again unless it's an emergency.And if you do, ask for `O. H. Lee,' all right?"

Marina agreed reluctantly, and they said good-bye.

Oswald was not imagining things. The FBI was still interestedin him. Two days after he returned to the United States from theSoviet Union with Marina and little June in July 1962, the FBI,as was their custom for a returned defector, contacted him andrequested that he come to their office in downtown Dallas for aninterview. Oswald was extremely defensive during the interview,and it did not go well. Two months later, the FBI interviewedhim again outside a small bungalow that he and Marina wererenting in Irving, Texas. Oswald was less defensive and agreed toinform the FBI if any Soviet agents tried to contact him. After thissecond meeting, the FBI saw no potential danger from Oswald andrecommended that his file be closed.

Then, in early November 1963, FBI agents stopped by RuthPaine's home on West Fifth Street in Irving, Texas, twice lookingfor him. Oswald's FBI file had been reopened, and they wanted toknow Oswald's current whereabouts. The agents found only Mrs.Paine and Marina at home, and after brief, chilly interviews, neitherwoman could tell the agents where Oswald lived in Dallas.

Oswald walked down the empty hallway of the quiet roominghouse and returned to his small bedroom to dress for work. Thesmall five-by-fourteen-foot room consisted of a single bed witha thin mattress; a large, paint-chipped dresser; and a nightstandwith a lamp next to the bed. Neatly stacked on top of the dresserwere a few library books, some local newspapers, issues of theSocialist newspapers the Militant and the Worker, and his Timemagazines. The walls were bare, and the room was sparse, but itwas neat and cost him only eight dollars a week. Its location at 1026North Beckley Street was near a city bus stop from which it tookonly fifteen minutes to get him to his job at the Texas School BookDepository in Dallas.

After dressing, he followed his morning routine of a simplebreakfast of buttered toast and a small...