About the book
C H A P T E R 1Where Were You on November 22, 1963?
You see, at the very moment snipers were busy making Jack Kennedy's wish come true (see quote below), I was taking aim on a grassy knoll . . . behind the gymnasium at Dean Junior College. I was in archery class and I was shooting a bow and arrow. Valerie Palucci was watching me. And I was trying to impress Valerie Palucci's breasts. The rest of Valerie didn't exist for me at that age. Nothing else existed. I always directed all of my communication skills directly to her breasts.
Anyway, it was my turn to shoot, and just as I was pulling the bow back the president of the student body ran out to me and said, "Belz, the president's been shot." My body tensed and I instinctively released the arrow. I'm lucky I didn't hit one of Valerie Palucci's breasts. I guess she's lucky, too.
I also missed the target. Just the same way we all missed the target about who shot JFK. Most of the country worshiped Jack the way I worshiped Valerie Palucci's breasts. They both symbolized our hopes for the future.
In case you have a clear memory of where you were on 11/22/63 but you're a little murky on what else happened that day, here's a clue:
The president of the United States was killed by rifle fire while riding in an open car in broad daylight. It was an event that was witnessed by hundreds but investigated by a panel of seven men, none of whom was anywhere near Dallas that day, and it was decided that Kennedy
The FBI reported to the commission that Oswald fired three shots at his target. The first bullet hit the president below the shoulder and penetrated less than the distance of a finger length. The second bullet struck Governor Connally. The third bullet struck the president's head and fragmentized. The commission, however, did not accept all the details of the FBI reports.
Oswald was later shot and killed by another lone nut, Dallas nightclub owner Jack Ruby. There was no conspiracy. Case closed. Thank you and good night.
But the case is only closed if you ignore the evidence . . .