JFK's Assassination and the CIA's Psychic Cold War

On March 29, 1977, George DeMoranshield told a journalist that his close friendship with Lee Harvey Oswald was an assignment, from the CIA Dallas office. Congress sent an investigator to take a statement. When he got to the house, George's family said he wasn't home. But he was. He was in his bedroom, dead from a shotgun wound. That no occurred. But the story doesn't start in 1977, and it doesn't start in Dallas. It starts in 1952, in a mansion in Maine, where America's wealthiest families held the sands, and nine people were chosen by ancient gods to change the world. And on November 22, 1963, they did. August is the perfect time to reset before the fall rush. And for me, that reset always starts in my closet. That's why I keep coming back to quits. They focus on well-made essentials that naturally become the clothes you live in all season long. Quints is built around fewer, better pieces. Premium materials made to last. 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That's qiuinc.com/thewifiles for free shipping and 365 day returns. quints.com/thewifiles In 1948, the Cold War got weird. There was the space race, the arms race, and the psychic race. Rumors at a Moscow said Soviet scientists were testing telepathy in labs. If mine could be a weapon, American intelligence wanted one, but there was a problem. No respectable scientist would touch the subject, and congress was never going to fund sciences, at least not publicly. The psychic race needed a man willing to bet his career on it. That man was a 30 year old doctor from Chicago named Andrea Purich. The army put Purich through medical school at Northwestern during the war. While he was still a student, Purich published a theory that his colleagues wouldn't go near. He believed the human brain was a radio, neurons didn't just fire, they transmitted, and anything that could transmit could also receive. If he was right, telepathy wasn't magic, it was biology, and Purich wanted to prove it. He rented a 45 room mansion in Glencove Main and started building. He converted one of the rooms into a Faraday cage, a chamber wrapped in copper screen that blocks radio waves and electricity. If the brain is a radio, you test it like a radio. Put a psychic inside a room that no signal can penetrate and see what still gets through. He called the project the Roundtable Foundation of Electrobiology, so the program had a name of facility and a testing protocol. The only thing Purich was missing was money. He needed private funding. He had private funding, that reminds me, I need to launch the kick start of my mastectomy. Just why? I hope I have the cat eat you, I'll give you 500 to never talk about this again. Done. The first check came from Alice Astor Boovery, her father was the richest man on the Titanic. He went down with a ship in 1912, and Alice inherited a fortune, and an obsession with the afterlife. After that, the donor list read like a who's who of American wealth and power. His tycoons, airs, and politicians. Henry Wallace, Franklin Roosevelt's former vice president, he cut a check. These people sat on corporate boards, advised the White House, and had some ties to the OSS, which became the CIA. Purich tested mediums and clairvoyance from around the world, and most of them disappointed him. Then the Indian philosopher, D.G. Vinod, took Purich's right ring finger, held it for a minute, and whistled softly. I held the guy's finger for a full minute, pulled my finger, it's a two-second transaction. Anything longer you're dating. That's not what this was. He pulled his finger and heard whistling, "Hello!" Vinod spent the next hour describing private events from Purich's life in perfect detail. The roundtable was now in business. And on New Year's Eve, 1952, Vinod laid down inside the testing room. And at nine o'clock, Vinod started talking. It was Vinod's voice, but the words weren't his. And words came from nine ancient Egyptian gods, and Purich recorded everything. The voice was slow and deliberate, nothing like Vinod's. "We are nine principles and forces, personalities, if you will." The voice called itself the Great Indian, the nine gods of Heliopolis, worshiped in Egypt for 3,000 years before Christ. And they said they weren't a myth. They were real and physical, and they weren't gods. They were alien minds on a spacecraft watching Earth. The nine said they controlled the universe and guided all of human history, but they worked through influence, not miracles. A person met someone at the right time, a door opened, a decision looked ordinary until years later when the pattern became visible. Vinod came out of the trans with no memory of what happened, but Purich had dozens of pages of notes, including physics equations that didn't make sense, at least not to him. But he didn't have much time to study his notes, because six weeks later, the United States Army recalled Purich to active duty. He went to Edgwood Arsenal in Maryland, where the military tested hypnosis, LSD and mescaline on soldiers. His orders were to find a drug that enhanced extra-sensory perception, psychic research, and mind control, funded by the US military. But somewhere he went back to Maine on leave, and on June 27, 1953, under a full moon, he gathered nine people at the mansion, one for each of the nine gods. And he picked these people carefully, eight were wealthy and connected, Purich took the ninth chair for himself, Vinod sat in the middle. At midnight, the nine returned, and this time they came with a mission. They said the nine people at the table were chosen to transform human civilization, that in answer to any religion or government, they answered to something much older and much more powerful. Then the cotton threads appeared. Nine threads on the floor, three feet from Vinod, nobody saw where they came from. The magic guy, what's his name? Vinod. Vinod. Vinod. Whatever it is, my money's still on the belly button. There was one thread for each person at the table, identical to the sacred thread Hindu Brahmins received an initiation. The nine chosen ones picked up the threads and accepted the assignment. Nobody outside that room would have believed a word of it. Purich barely believed it, but three years later, a stranger a thousand miles away sent him a letter that proved the nine were real. You know that feeling when he texted the team, "Hey, did anybody call that guy back?" He got nothing, silence, tumbleweeds, then two hours later, somebody drops a single thumbs up emoji like that's an update. Meanwhile, the guys already found somebody else, hired them, and is probably going to send the Christmas card. 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Out of classic wellness retreat, my uncle Irving took the same trip in 74 left, and the captain came back as a rainds stick guy. At the hotel, poor rich's room was accidentally given to an American couple from Michigan. Dr. Charles Lockheed and his wife, poor rich met them first. The Lockheed said they were "contactees." Space intelligences spoke through them. These were poor rich's kind of people, so they kept in touch. A month after poor rich came home, a letter from Lockheed arrived. It described a young Arizona contactee, George Hunt Williamson, no connection to Maine, no connection to poor rich. He never heard of their out table, but somehow Williamson received the same transmission from the nine, on the same nights, in 1952 and 1953. Poor rich still had his doubts, but then he got to the last page. The letter contained the Einstein Lorenz transformation, the physics equation that describes how time and space distort near the speed of light. Purich recognized it, the Nine spoke the same equation through Vinod. Nobody outside that copper room could have known this. The Nine broadcast the same message to receivers separated by a thousand miles, through people who never met. After that, Purich stopped outing. He spent the rest of his life following the instructions from that room. But the Nine were silent. Purich searched for another channel, but every medium he tested came up empty. It took 15 years, but the Nine finally found a vessel worthy of delivering their message. A 24-year-old Israeli power trooper who could bend spoons with his mind. The call came from Israel. Yuri Geller claimed he could read minds and influence events. He said he could bend metal and stop clocks. Purich was skeptical, but witnesses said Geller was the real deal, so Purich flew to Tel Aviv to watch him work. Soon after that, both men were on a plane to America. At his estate in Austin, New York, Purich launched Operation Lab 9. He built another Faraday cage, had a new medium and once again asked to speak to the ancient astronaut gods. And this time, they answered. But a different voice came through Geller. They called itself spectra, a superintelligence aboard a spacecraft 53,000 light years away. He was still the Nine, but using a new name, and it had new instructions. To complete this new mission, Purich knew he needed help, so he took Geller to the Stanford Research Institute in California, the infamous SRI. To physicists Russell Targon, Harold Putoff, were also experimenting with psychics, specifically remote viewers. SRI was recruiting and training people who project their consciousness anywhere on Earth and beyond. Some of their most talented subjects could even see through time. The first experiments were easier than sending your consciousness to Mars. The subject was given a sealed envelope and asked to draw what was inside. The experiments were conducted in a shielded room, similar to a Faraday cage. Over seven days in August 1973, Geller made drawing after drawing. One envelope had a picture of graves, 24 of them. Geller drew 24 graves. Another image was the solar system. Geller drew that too. Geller got ten in a row, and possible odds witnessed by trained scientists. In October 1974, Targon put off publisher experiments in nature. This highly respected peer-reviewed journal printed evidence that mines could see through walls. The CIA noticed. They launched a secret program that eventually became Stargate, and for over 20 years, Stargate trained the CIA's psychic spies. And back at Lab 9, the guest list grew. This from SRI, wealthy elites, politicians, even European nobility showed up using fake names. And one of those wealthy elites was British businessman John Whitmore. Whitmore was so impressed with purge that he wanted to make a movie about the night, so they brought in an out-of-work TV writer, Gene Roddenberry. Gene Roddenberry wasn't impressed. He thought the psychics were making it all up, but something must have stuck with it. Because years later, in Deep Space 9, there's a character named Vinod. The episode is about a cult leader who is protected by a small inner circle. Season 2, episode 15, Paradise. The cult leader, James, everyone's technology, so nobody could leave the planet. You know the episode number? You mean, I've seen every episode of Star Trek ever. Except the one with a whale, not the whale, Star Trek would down a dog alley, and I could not follow. Where the purge was a cult leader could be debated, but he had an inner circle, and I kept receiving instructions from the nine, prepare humanity, get the right people in place. The transformation is coming. One member of the inner circle was Ruth Forbes Payne Young. That forms. She was also the great granddaughter of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Her husband Arthur Young made his own fortune when he invented the Bell Helicopter. In February 1963, their son Michael Payne was at a dinner party with his wife, also named Ruth. With that party, they became friends with a Russian housewife who spoke almost no English, Marina Oswald. The Payne's didn't know it at the time, but seven months later, Marina's husband would be sneaking around their garage, hiding a rifle. This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. You've heard me mention BetterHelp plenty of times on this show, but I don't know that we've ever really dug into how many people actually love this service once they start using it. And you don't have to take my word for it. Head to www.betterhelp.com/reviews, and you can see real customer feedback updated every single day. Hundreds of people writing in about what their experience has actually been like, and the numbers back it up. 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He spent nearly three years in the Soviet Union, and announced he wanted to give up his American citizenship, and then he changed his mind. The Russian-speaking community in Dallas helped the family at first, but Oswald wore them out with his temper and his politics. One by one they walked away, but not George de Morenschild. He was a Russian-born aristocrat who became a Texas oil man. He moved in the same wealthy social and diplomatic circles as the Drexels, the Morgans, the Bouvieres, and the Kennedys. He also had friends in the U.S. government, specifically the intelligence community. J. Walton Moore was an officer in the CIA's domestic contacts division. They collected information on Americans overseas. After every foreign trip, George sat down with Moore and told him what he saw. In 1962, Moore brought him an assignment, an ex-Marine living in Fort Worth, just back from the Soviet Union. He was perfect for the job. He grew up in Minsk, and Oswald had lived in Minsk for years. Of every man in Dallas, only one can sit across from Lee Oswald and talk about Lenin Avenue stretching to Victory Square, about the river, about the smell of popcorn at the circus. George was actually eager to chat with someone from his hometown, but he wouldn't risk his business or his reputation. Moore said both would be fine. In fact, there was a juicy oil contract in Haiti that could lend his way if he helped out the agency. So, George De Morgenschild, with fresh orders to make a new friend, drove to Fort Worth. For about six months, he ran Oswald's life. He drove him to job interviews. He helped the family find housing. He even stepped into arguments when Lee got violent and Lee listened to George. On paper, the friendship made no sense. George De Morgenschild dined with senators and oil executives. The Oswald worked a factory job in red marks during lunch, but the friendship was real. George liked him. He told people he felt sorry for Lee. He was bright, bitter, and in over his head. He stayed close until February 22, 1963, when he brought the Oswald's to a small party in Dallas. One of the guests was Ruth Payne, a separated mother who studied Russian. Marina needed someone to talk to, and Ruth wanted someone to practice with. By the end of the evening, they exchanged phone numbers. And that spring, George De Morgenschild left for Haiti and never saw Lee Harvey Oswald again. But he didn't need to. His mission was complete. The CIA's man in Dallas made one introduction, and it was the only one that mattered. The only thing left to do now was wait and watch history unfold. The rifle started in Chicago Mail Order Warehouse. It ended in a garage in Irving, Texas, wrapped in a blanket, tucked behind camping equipment. Between those two points, a chain of introductions ran through one family. Ruth Payne was separated from her husband Michael, who still played the mortgage on the house in Irving. Michael worked as a research engineer at Bell Helicopter in Fort Worth. He also held a security clearance. His mother was Ruth Forbes Payne Young, the woman who accepted a cotton thread at his say-outs in Maine. His stepfather was Arthur Young, the man who designed the Bell Helicopter and signed the checks for Purge's research. In September 1963, Ruth Payne packed her station wagon and drove east on a two-week trip to visit family. One of her stops was her sister Sylvia's house in Falls Church, Virginia. Falls Church is next door to Langley, and Sylvia worked for the CIA. Then Ruth swung south to New Orleans where the Oswalds were coming apart. Lee was out of work, and Marina was pregnant with her second child. Ruth made her an offer, come live with me and Irving until the baby comes. Marina said yes, and moved in permanently, but Lee stayed behind. He only came out on weekends. By that fall, he had almost nothing. His wife and children moved out. He lived in a rented room. He was almost broke. The one thing he owned was wrapped in a blanket in the Payne's garage in Irving. Michael Payne thought it was camping here. By October, Lee needed work. Ruth made a few phone calls and helped Lee get a job as a warehouse clerk in Dallas. His first day at the Texas School Book Depository was October 16th. That same morning he was offered a job with an airline, better work, better pay. He kept the warehouse job at Dele Plaza. When Kennedy came to Dallas for a motorcade, his route was unknown to the public until November The Oswald had already been at the depository for over a month. On the evening of Thursday, November 21st, Oswald came out to Irving a day early. Marina was surprised and not in a good way. He played with his daughters outside until dark, then three times that night, Leigh begged her to move back to Dallas. She said no, three times. He went to bed angry. In the morning, he asked her for a kiss and she turned away. Then Leigh Harvey Oswald was gone. He left his wedding ring on the dresser and he never took that ring off, not in two and a half years of marriage. He left $170 in cash, almost everything he had, he did not leave a note. He walked into work carrying a long paper package. A coworker asked what was inside. Oswald said it was curtain rods. It wasn't curtain rods. Let's talk about the number of the Fed doesn't want you to say out loud. PCE inflation just came in at 4.1%, that's double their own 2% target. A target they've now missed, five years in a row, and here's the part of that you really get your attention. The Fed's own projection says we don't get back to 2% until 2028, that's three more years of your dollar buying less than it does today. You're already feeling it. Rosary bills are up 32% since 2020. Retirees have lost 26% of their purchasing power, and if your 401k isn't up 30% or more in real terms, you're not gaining, you're going backwards. And it doesn't stop there. 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Governor Connolly collapsed in the seat ahead of him. The limousine raised a parkland hospital where doctors pronounced the president dead at 1 o'clock. On the sixth floor of the depository, police found three spent shells, a cart worth boxed near the window, and a long, empty paper bag. Hidden near the stairwell, a bolt-action 6.5-carcano rifle that traced directly to Lee Harvey Oswald. And, you know, the rest of the story. 45 minutes later, Officer JD Tippett was shot dead on a sidewalk in Oakcliff. Police arrested Oswald at the Texas Theater. Two days later, in the basement of Dallas Police Headquarters, a strip club owner named Jack Ruby stepped out of a crowd and shot Oswald on live television. Oswald died at parkland hospital. There was no trial, no cross examination, not one word of testimony from Oswald, but there didn't need to be. He was the shooter, the lone gunman, and that was the end of it. But a murdered president and a murdered suspect left the country full of questions. So seven days after Dallas, President Lyndon Johnson appointed a commission of seven men to answer those questions, chaired by the Chief Justice of the United States, or Warren. The press called it the Warren Commission. For ten months, the commission took testimony from hundreds of witnesses. In September 1964, it published its answer, an 888 page report backed by 26 volumes of evidence and one conclusion, Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, case closed, officially. Except the case never closed for the American people, instead the questions got louder. Within a few years, most Americans didn't believe the official story and people spent decades digging into details that the commission ignored. What they found always led back to one house, Michael and Ruth Payne's. Marina lived with the Payne's, Oswald was there every weekend. He was there the night before the murder. The murder weapon was in their house. Nobody was closer to the Oswald family than the Payne's. Ruth Payne became the commission's most valuable civilian witness. She testified longer than almost anyone, and she translated for Marina, who still spoke very little English. Her translations were the backbone of the official story of who Lee Oswald was and what he intended to do that day. The backyard photos, Oswald posing with the rifle and his Marxist newspapers, they came out of Ruth Payne's garage with the rest of the family's belongings. The rifle came out of that same garage. And so did one piece of evidence almost nobody talks about. When Dallas Police searched the Payne's house, Detective Gus Rose found a Minox camera loaded with film in Oswald's bag. A Minox is a German spy camera, small enough to hide in the palm of her hand. Intelligence agencies loved him. Warehouse clerks couldn't afford them. The camera was photographed and put into police inventory. Then, the camera disappeared. But something showed up in the FBI's inventory, a Minox light meter. Three times the FBI asked Gus Rose to change the paperwork from camera to light meter. Rose refused every time, and he testified to all this under oath. The orders asked why the Dallas PD said camera, and the FBI said light meter. There wasn't a good answer. So Jay Edgar Hoover sent orders to the Dallas office. Find that camera. And the next day someone did, Michael Payne. The next day, Michael Payne handed the FBI a Minox micro camera. He said it was his, and was in the garage the whole time, in a coffee can. Michael said the police weren't interested in a spy camera. Found in a house, occupied by defectors Russian wine. The spy camera was in a coffee can, and of course, right next to the micro film in a sugar bowl, and a cyanide in a spice rack. And the serial number on Michael's camera had five digits. The Minox Corporation said their cameras had six digits, and the serial number is important. It's how Minox could trace a camera's manufacturer date and origin. A five-digit number makes it untraceable. The war commission had the Payne's under oath for days. Nobody asked them one question about that camera. The rifle, the photos, the translations, the spy camera, and the job that put Oswald in that window. Every one of those things ran through Ruth Payne's house. Even Oswald's mother said she believed both Marina and Ruth Payne were involved. Somehow the family at the center of the evidence was never treated as part of the case. And here's the thing. The FBI was already looking at the Payne's. Twice in the weeks before the assassination, an agent stopped by. He was keeping tabs on the defector's wife who lived there. The bureau had a file open on Lee Harvey Oswald before a single shot was fired. So when the shots came, every phone line that touched Oswald's world became a live wire. And the FBI started listening. On the afternoon of the assassination, Michael Payne called Ruth from work. He said he felt sure Oswald could look president, but didn't feel Oswald was responsible. And then came the next sentence. "We both know who is responsible for the assassination." When commission lawyers asked Michael about this, he denied saying it. And the call never appeared in the war report. It was reduced to a few sentences in an FBI file called commission document 206. And in that file, the source was redacted. The names of the people on the call were redacted. Just a male voice and a female voice. The phone numbers were not identified. For more than a decade, we both know who was responsible. That quote only lived in that buried report. When the files were opened in the 1970s, it was revealed that it was, in fact, Michael and Ruth Payne on that call. Something else was missing from the war report. In all 26 volumes, all 888 pages, purge the roundtable and the nine didn't appear once. But they should have. The say-on's world was closer to the commission than anyone knew. One of the seven commissioners was former director of the CIA and longtime villain on this channel, Aladalus. Dulles should not have been on that commission for a few reasons. One, Kennedy fired him. After the Bay of Pigs, Kennedy said he wanted to, quote, "shatter the CIA into a thousand pieces and scatter into the winds." He believed Dulles wanted to drive the U.S. into a war with Cuba, which they tried over and over. But Dulles was out. And there's another reason Dulles had no business being on the commission. He had a secret. During the war, he ran a spy in Switzerland, Mary Bancroft. She was his agent and she was his mistress. And for more than 40 years, Mary Bancroft's best friend was Ruth Forbes Payne Young. They traveled together. They vacationed together. "Oh God, oh God, oh God. The commissionist's spy girl friend's best friend is the say-on's lady whose son had to write for in his garage." Here's all the facts. "I've seen tight of plots and vertical dramas." You watch those. "Guilty pleasure. Hey, this welcome." While Dulles sat on the commission, Bancroft wrote a letter reminding him how well she knew Michael Payne's mother. That letter wasn't in the report either. It was found 40 years later. The man get-a-de-fire had the files on the family that housed this killer. The files on the family of his mistress' best friend. And 14 years later, someone started burning the files. On September 5th, 1976, George Zamoreschelt run a letter to the director of the CIA, Banger for Hell. He said vigilantes surrounded his family, their phone was tapped, they were followed everywhere. The director read the letter, and he recognized the name. His prep school roommate was Zamoreschelt's nephew. And in Zamoreschelt's own address book, there was an entry for an old friend. Bush, George H. W. Poppy, the director of the CIA was George Bush. Bush's staff asked how well he knew the writer. Banger said he knew the man since the 1940s. Then in a memo, he added a strange sentence, "I do know this man, Damorenchelt. I don't recall his role in all this. I don't recall his politician for, I recall vividly, but not until I have counseled President." And Bush wrote back to George Zamoreschelt. "In your situation, I can well imagine how the attention you described in your letter affect both you and your wife. However, my staff has been unable to find any indication of interest in your activities. On the part of federal authorities in recent years, I can only speculate that you may have become newsworthy again, in view of the renewed interest in the Kennedy assassination, and thus may be attracting the attention of people in the media." Two months after that, George tried to take his own life, four times, his wife got so scared that she hadn't committed. In March 1977, journalist Edward Epstein went to Palm Beach to interview him. They met at the Breaker's Hotel for Breakfast. That's when George finally admitted in his CIA contact, J. Walton Moore, put him on Oswald. "I would never have contacted Oswald in a million years if Moore had not sanctioned it. Too much was at stake." The friendship was real, the assignment was too, the took a break for lunch, Epstein went back to his room, and they were scheduled to pick things back up at three. That same morning, Congressional investigator Gaiton Fonsey drove to George's house. "Jorge's name was Fonsey!" "Yep." "Cool name." George wasn't home, Fonsey left his car with George's daughter. George came back at two, he saw the car and went upstairs. Almost 40 minutes later, his daughter found him. He apparently shot himself with a shotgun. But six people were in that house, and not one of them heard a shotgun go off. But a maid had a tape recorder going, she was recording a soap opera. On the tape you hear a single blast at 221 when the sound of a gun hitting the floor. And George wasn't the only witness connected to JFK who turned up dead, or didn't turn up at all. Chicago mob boss Shem Zhankana was shot in his kitchen before he could testify about the CIA's plots against Castro. Mobster Johnny Razzelli went missing and turned up in an oil drop. An ex-comp, Richard Kane was linked to the mob and the CIA. He was also killed in Chicago, in a sandwich shop. Hail Boggs was a congressman on the Warren Commission. He publicly criticized the Warren Report and called for a new investigation in the 1970s. He disappeared in a small plane over Alaska in 1972. The wreckage was never found. In a year and a half after Palm Beach, the lab 9 estate burned down. Decades of poor rich's files went up with it, along with the family dog. He didn't talk to the police, but later he wrote he believed it was the CIA. Then poor rich went into hiding. He died in 1995 after a fall out of staircase. By the end of the 1970s, the JFK witnesses were all dead. And everyone in poor rich's world lost their jobs, their reputations, and their funding. Some people lost their minds. Every person in the council of 9, and every person who could name them, was gone. This is one of the stories where the true parts are strange enough without any help, so it's separate what happened from what didn't. The say-ons has happened. The roundtable was real and so was that donor list. Poor rich's assignment to find a drug that enhances ESP is true. The 9 or a different story, everything from inside that copper room comes through one man. The aliens and predictions, the equations, nobody else saw any of it. And poor rich didn't write about it until 1974. After JFK, after the Warren report, after the pains got famous. Either 9 aliens predicted history, or one man made up a story to claim a piece of it. Now Geller's 10 for 10 really happened in front of witnesses, but he's been controversial for years. But the CAA wrote about him that he demonstrated his paranormal perceptual ability in a convincing and unambiguous manner. But that wasn't good enough to keep Stargate running. The program was eventually shot down because it wasn't yielding valuable results. But that's also being debated. What happened to Dallas is different. There are records. There are witnesses. There's connections. A lot of connections. Lee Harvey Oswald got a job at Deely Plaza over a month before the president's route was announced. That's either a coincidence or he knew something. Now I leaned toward he knew something. But until we have all the JFK files, all we can do is speculate, which we love to do. Now it's true that everything ran through Ruth Payne's house. But she was never charged. And she said for 60 years, she was just helping a friend. She's still around today and she sticks by that story and he's the leader alone. The spy camera turned up in the FBI's own files. Then it became a light meter. The police receipt says camera, an FBI signed it. The property clerk admitted he changed the paperwork when the viewer asked him to. And Hoover's teletypes about this still exist. Skeptics will say the camera appears on the Friday list, but the bag wasn't searched until Saturday. Maybe someone confused the camera case for a camera. The camera case doesn't hold film and Gus Rose opened it and found a role in saw. He said so under oath and he never wavered. None of it makes anyone a spy. But it's one more thing that ran through that garage that got rewritten on paper. That phone call happened. The one report didn't have much to say about it. And without an actual recording, Michael Payne is innocent until proven guilty. But it's another uncomfortable detail. George DeMorne should confess, but he was dying and he was paid for his story, so the confession is not solid. But he was a CIA informant. At the time, J.W. Moore denied that. But the classified files show George really was reporting to the CIA. The CIA denied a lot of things about JFK, and they still do. I don't think George was killed, but the uncomfortable connections are there. Dulles is the real problem with all of this. His mistress' best friend was all over the story and was never investigated. It's not a confession, but it proves the one report was incomplete at best and corrupt at worst. And everything flows from that. Dulles should have never been on that commission, and I'll never stop saying it. Dead mobsters happened, where they connected to JFK, maybe, was the mob connected to the CIA? Absolutely. But the one death that should bother you is the dead congressman. The guy from the commission held box. His plane vanished over Alaska, and that's a place where it planes vanish. But it would be nice to have some closure on that, but no wreckage, no closure. Poor Rich's house really was set on fire while he was away. His kids were all, but they got out in time. Their dog was really killed, and his notes were lost. But he published before the fire. So here's what we're left with, an ordinary explanation. Wealthy families are connected. They're connected with each other, with the government, and with the intelligence community. Wealthy people cluster. So sure they cluster around, say, answers the CIA, and the guy who shut the president. My poker buddies cluster around TV, warm light beer, and somebody's wife's meatballs. You have a point, but correlation is not conspiracy. And it ain't the sculpatory either, counselor, clearing somebody guilt. I know what it means. But that doesn't explain the pattern. The same people kept appearing around psychic research, military money, the pains, Oswald, and the CIA. I didn't even get into the more island UFO connection to JFK, but I have a whole episode on that. More names like Fred Chrisman and Guy Bannister, more people connected to New Orleans, all connected to the CIA, all connected to the mob, and the death of a president. Quincidences are not a conspiracy, until they are. The alien gods weren't real. The nine people were. They had the money, the connections, and the power to change the world. And nobody could prove they didn't. There are people out there right now sitting around the table, deciding who lives and who dies, deciding which elected leaders are inconvenient, deciding what stories you're allowed to hear. But it doesn't matter if you're a mobster, a strip club owner or the president of the United States, if you become a problem, you go away. But nobody at a table like that thinks they're a villain. They think they're chosen. A god, a flag, a voice in the dark. Something always gives powerful people permission. And once they have it, the ordinary rules don't apply to them. The people at the table change. But there's never an empty seat. Thank you so much for hanging out today. My name is AJ. You know how to fish. Worked it wise. If you're new, best friends, be good, mixed. And keeps driving you to job and it used as good playing for the kids. This has been The White Files. Yet for her learned anything, he'd appreciate it if you could subscribe. I don't care. But he'd really want you to like, subscribe, comment, and share. That stuff really makes his spins tangle. Like most topics we cover on the channel, today's is recommended by you. But the story you want to see or learn more about, go to thewifiles.com/chips, send me an email, catch us on this cord in the comments. You'll find you know where we are. If you enjoy the stories I tell here on The White Files, check out my other show on the channel. It's called The Basement. It's a conversation show where I chat with the interesting people behind these episodes. Some of them you know, but a lot of them you don't, but they're all people I find fascinating. Experts on topics like the moon landing hoax, or it was real. Did you have cake and spheracy? DMT laser code was a good one. Pre-cognition with Eric Wargo, one of my favorites. Mark Daytoni was here last week. Mr. Ballon was in. It's random, but it's a lot of fun. And for someone you'd like to see on the show, let me know. I'm always looking for good guests. Remember, you can also listen to The White Files as a podcast. Take us on the road. I upload at least twice a week episodes, campfire stories, interviews. You can find it by looking for The White Files, Operation Podcast. I was short of time. I needed a name. That seemed to make sense. Anyway, it's there. It's available everywhere. You get your podcasts. If you need more White Files in your life, see you doctor. Fun today. Go outside, touch grass. I'm just kidding. If you need more White Files in your life, and who does it? Make sure you check out our 24/7 stream on the White Files backstage. Link down below. Over there, we run episodes back to back. Some fun content in between. And the live chat is more entertaining than anything I could produce. Special thanks to our patrons who make this channel possible. Every episode of The White Files is dedicated to my Patreon members. I couldn't do any of this without your support. Some of you have been here for years, and I thank you for that. And if you'd like to support the channel, keep us going and join this amazing community. For as little as three bucks a month, you get access to perks like seeing videos early with no commercials, exclusive merch, and two private live streams every week just for you. And the whole White Files team is on the stream, not just my mug. You get to see Victoria, Jen, Gino, Hybrids, sometimes Mary Jane is on there. And the same usual suspects show up. When I do live streams, there's thousands of people in there. It's hard to be heard. Over on Patreon is a few dozen of us, maybe sometimes a hundred. And you get to talk. You can turn on your webcam, hop up on stage, ask a question, talk about anything you like. I think it's a great way to get to know us as people. Another way to support the channel is grab something for The White Files store. But if you're going to buy merch, make sure you become a member on YouTube. I know more money. It's worth it, I promise. Because YouTube members get 10% off everything in the White Files store forever. And it's only $3 a month. So if you're going to spend 40 bucks on t-shirts, physical coffee mugs, challenge coins, hecklefish, plushies. If you're going to spend 40 bucks, become a member, get the code. It pays for itself and you just cancel. I don't mind. That thing is there to save you money. It doesn't make me any money. I give all that revenue to the great team. Get an accent. Those are the plugs and that's going to do it. Oh my voice is hoarse. I'm not going to know until I look at this in the edit. How long was Bubba back there? You guys see a black and white kitten up there? That was Bubba Boy. I'm not redoing it. He's staying in. Welcome to the channel pal. But the next time be safe, be kind. Another you. I appreciate it. Bubs, where are your mugs? Oh, oh, oh, oh, yeah. I played Bolivia's an area 51, a secret code inside the Bible said I was. I love my UFOs and the paranormal fun, as well as mirrors it. So I'm saying it like I should. But then another piece of conspiracy theory becomes the truth, my friends. And it never ends. No, it never ends. I feel the crap get and got stuck inside my home. With an K-Out truck, I'll be in only two hours. Do you stand, look, you've rigged fake the moon landing alone. On a film set, I wore the shadow people there. The ride's well-eating, it's just for the smiling man. I'm told, and his name was Cole. I can't believe I'm cancer with the bitch shit. And the fish are Thursday next week, they change to him. And when I'm happy, I'll do the night. All I ever wanted was to just hear the truth. So the waffles on the feet all through the light. The mouth man's side and van, the solar storm still come to a god's heart. The secret city underground, mysterious number of stations, planets are phoned to, plastic stockade, and what the dark watchers found. When I'm simulation, don't you worry though. The black night's at a light, it told me so. All I ever wanted was to just hear the truth.