History Was Staged - Robert F. Kennedy Faked His Assassination
I should have known in 1986. Something happened to me. I knew the music but not the words.
Shortly before we graduated from high school, a friend and I decided to volunteer at the local office of the Congressman who belonged to our political party. We went to the office after a school day, made our acquaintances and were told to return at a later date.
By the time the day arrived, my friend had extended his post-graduation vacation and I went to the office by myself.
I stepped into the room and made eye contact with a woman, who fainted immediately. There was a glimmer of familiarity in her expression. Other people came to her aid and whisked her away without comment.
Someone else approached me and directed me to a room with several people gathered at a long table. I was seated toward one end of it and offered something to drink, which I accepted.
Others asked me to stuff envelopes. I read the content of what I was stuffing. It had to do with Robert F. Kennedy (RFK), whom the congressman apparently knew, and Sirhan Sirhan, the convicted murderer of Kennedy the very year of my birth. And we happened to be in Los Angeles, where Kennedy had died.
The woman who had fainted made a re-appearance, subdued at the other end of the table. I chatted with the people near me, a woman who kept looking me in the eye, a man who said he hated the Los Angeles Dodgers and another man who kept smiling.
I sensed the situation was strange and decided to keep saying a phrase. I wanted to identify these people at some point in the future and I believed a phrase would cause the kind of facial reaction from them that I got from the fainting woman.
Eventually, they told me it was time for everyone to go. I followed some of the people from the table, including the smiling man, to the parking lot. I told him that catch phrase one more time and he smiled again.
It occurred to me that I knew that I knew something. Something that made people act strangely. Something they wanted kept secret.
I recently wrote my memories of what took place immediately after this incident:
I drove home on the 405 Freeway that Friday afternoon. I ate dinner and subsequently went to bed. I had trouble sleeping. I had thoughts that my whole life had been a lie. That pictures of my family were lies. I envisioned a movie tape getting tangled up.
I wrote out a message "Darwin is correct." My thoughts were on evolution...
I eventually got to sleep. I got up, had breakfast and thought about my day.
I called a friend and told her I needed to tell her everything. She said OK, come on over. I went to her house. She invited me to her family living room where we sat down.
I talked about presidential candidates and Robert Kennedy. Her father joined the conversation. He spoke ill of George McGovern. He and I agreed that Gorbachev understood English.
I talked about riding my bicycle and people shouting at me. My friend told me to go run for president, sarcastically.
Her father left and her mother joined us...
I would keep babbling about Robert Kennedy that weekend. I envisioned myself in a scenario that I could not get out of. Like the game of "Prisoner" I had played (a game based on the television show), I knew there was one truth I could not surrender, even if my silence about it held me hostage.
I don't know why the woman fainted. Nor will I ever likely understand the strange behavior of the other people at the office. Nor my own feelings of trauma for years afterwards. I am making this public in an attempt to create a dialogue so as to better understand our history and thus our future.
Shortly before we graduated from high school, a friend and I decided to volunteer at the local office of the Congressman who belonged to our political party. We went to the office after a school day, made our acquaintances and were told to return at a later date.
By the time the day arrived, my friend had extended his post-graduation vacation and I went to the office by myself.
I stepped into the room and made eye contact with a woman, who fainted immediately. There was a glimmer of familiarity in her expression. Other people came to her aid and whisked her away without comment.
Someone else approached me and directed me to a room with several people gathered at a long table. I was seated toward one end of it and offered something to drink, which I accepted.
Others asked me to stuff envelopes. I read the content of what I was stuffing. It had to do with Robert F. Kennedy (RFK), whom the congressman apparently knew, and Sirhan Sirhan, the convicted murderer of Kennedy the very year of my birth. And we happened to be in Los Angeles, where Kennedy had died.
The woman who had fainted made a re-appearance, subdued at the other end of the table. I chatted with the people near me, a woman who kept looking me in the eye, a man who said he hated the Los Angeles Dodgers and another man who kept smiling.
I sensed the situation was strange and decided to keep saying a phrase. I wanted to identify these people at some point in the future and I believed a phrase would cause the kind of facial reaction from them that I got from the fainting woman.
Eventually, they told me it was time for everyone to go. I followed some of the people from the table, including the smiling man, to the parking lot. I told him that catch phrase one more time and he smiled again.
It occurred to me that I knew that I knew something. Something that made people act strangely. Something they wanted kept secret.
I recently wrote my memories of what took place immediately after this incident:
I drove home on the 405 Freeway that Friday afternoon. I ate dinner and subsequently went to bed. I had trouble sleeping. I had thoughts that my whole life had been a lie. That pictures of my family were lies. I envisioned a movie tape getting tangled up.
I wrote out a message "Darwin is correct." My thoughts were on evolution...
I eventually got to sleep. I got up, had breakfast and thought about my day.
I called a friend and told her I needed to tell her everything. She said OK, come on over. I went to her house. She invited me to her family living room where we sat down.
I talked about presidential candidates and Robert Kennedy. Her father joined the conversation. He spoke ill of George McGovern. He and I agreed that Gorbachev understood English.
I talked about riding my bicycle and people shouting at me. My friend told me to go run for president, sarcastically.
Her father left and her mother joined us...
I would keep babbling about Robert Kennedy that weekend. I envisioned myself in a scenario that I could not get out of. Like the game of "Prisoner" I had played (a game based on the television show), I knew there was one truth I could not surrender, even if my silence about it held me hostage.
I don't know why the woman fainted. Nor will I ever likely understand the strange behavior of the other people at the office. Nor my own feelings of trauma for years afterwards. I am making this public in an attempt to create a dialogue so as to better understand our history and thus our future.
Two of the pictures show RFK with a different parting of hair. I know as a fact it takes quite a lot of work to change one's parting of hair. He obviously had no time to change his hair style as we are told he had just been shot. Is it really the same person? Note that the pictures were published right after the "assassination" as they are shown. They have not been tampered with since then.
And what about the man in the glasses in one of the pictures? His hand looks to be missing. How do you explain that?
Need more proof that the picture has not been tampered with? Look at the television coverage of the event here. They show the picture of the man with the hand missing that very day!
I raise questions about the parting of RFK's hair and of the apparently missing hand to suggest that something is wrong with our overall picture of a famous event. If you were convinced that pictures were pasted upon pictures for the media to share or that another man was substituted for RFK in a photo, would you see history differently? I think you would. That is why these details matter.
I met Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. in 1991. He did a double-take when he saw me. Here are pictures of me and of RFK below:
And what about the man in the glasses in one of the pictures? His hand looks to be missing. How do you explain that?
Need more proof that the picture has not been tampered with? Look at the television coverage of the event here. They show the picture of the man with the hand missing that very day!
I raise questions about the parting of RFK's hair and of the apparently missing hand to suggest that something is wrong with our overall picture of a famous event. If you were convinced that pictures were pasted upon pictures for the media to share or that another man was substituted for RFK in a photo, would you see history differently? I think you would. That is why these details matter.
I met Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. in 1991. He did a double-take when he saw me. Here are pictures of me and of RFK below: