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EDITED MANUSCRIPT OF GEORGE DE MOHRENSCHILDT'S "I AM A PATSY"

EDITED MANUSCRIPT OF GEORGE DE MOHRENSCHILDT'S "I AM A PATSY"

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Published by Juan Viche
See Title. This covers the JFK Assassination and the innocence of Lee Harvey Oswald from the perspective of George de Mohrenschildt.
See Title. This covers the JFK Assassination and the innocence of Lee Harvey Oswald from the perspective of George de Mohrenschildt.

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Published by: Juan Viche on Nov 13, 2013
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11/27/2013

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MANUSCRIPT OF GEORGE DE MOHRENSCHILDT
S
“I AM A PATSY!”
 
Edited by Juan Schoch of Teknosis (http://tekgnosis.typepad.com) beginning in October 2013 in remembrance of JFK on the 50
th
 Anniversary of his November 22, 1963 assassination in a domestic
coup d’état
 This is the manuscript of the book George de Mohrenschildt was writing at the time of his death in March 1977. In it de Mohrenschildt gives many details about his activities and associations, and perhaps most significantly, an insight into how he perceived his relationship with Lee Harvey Oswald. The facts and information in this manuscript in many respects differ from, and occasionally boldly contradict, statements that were made by de Mohrenschildt to several Government agencies at the time of the assassination and other information that has been made public. While there is no longer any way to resolve those factual conflicts or to confront de Mohrenschildt with the discrepancies the manuscript nevertheless sheds light on at least how George de Mohrenschildt himself viewed those facts and how he wanted the public record to read about himself and Oswald.
 
I’M
JUST A PATSY!
Preface in Haiti
I’m
just a patsy! These last words of my friend, Lee Harvey Oswald still ring in my ears and make me think of the terrible injustice inflicted on the
memory of this “supposed assassin”.
 November 1963 was fairly uneventful in Haiti
no shootings and no invasions. My young geologist Alston Boyd and I had worked in our office located on Avenue Truman in the center of Port-au-Prince. Since we started very early in the morning to avoid the infernal daily heat, our daily chores were over at 2 P.M. This office occupied a large room of a Quonset building belonging to the Haitian Government where we were kept virtually incommunicado
since it contained government maps and other “strategic information”.
 Alston and I drove to my house overlooking Port-au-Prince in the area called Tonton Lyle (a block away from the presidential retreat) where we ate and took a siesta, like any self-respecting Haitian. Then later that afternoon we dressed and went to the reception at the Lebanese Embassy. The usually animated streets of the capital seemed d
eserted. “I feel trouble in the air,” said my wife Jeann
e. The air was balmy, the soldiers and the tonton macoutes were absent and we could not hear any shots. We greeted the Lebanese Ambassador and joined the crowd. George Morel, head of Pan American Airw
ays in Haiti came up to us immediately. “Didn’t you know your president was killed?”
 he asked in a strained voice. At first we thought he was talking about the President of Haiti, Doctor Francois Duvalier who was my nominal boss in Haiti. Seeing our blank expression, Morel explained,
“President Kennedy was assassinated today.”
 
I hoped that it wouldn’t happen in Texas and especially in Dallas. But Morel
summarily explained the situation
and it was in Dallas.
 
Gloomily we filed out of the Lebanese Embassy, where people did not seem
to be too badly concerned about President Kennedy’s fate, got in the car and drove away. “
If he had his tonton macoutes around, this would not have
happened,” I said angrily and this was my first serious criticism of our
services who were supposed to protect the President of the United States. We drove gloomily to the American Embassy, located near the seashore and not too far from my office. The doors were wide open and two marines stood there on both sides of a book where the American residents would sign their names as a gesture of reverence to the dead head of state. Having signed our names (we were the first to have done it) we drove to the house of an old friend of mine Valentin (Teddy) Blaque, an attaché at the Embassy.
Teddy’s house was similar to ours, but more elaborate, with a large terrace
overlooking the sparkling bay of Port-au-Prince. Several mutual friends stood around looking at each other with stunned expression and seemed to
ask the same question: “Why him?”
 
“For the fist time we had a president who was young and energetic. And he was trying to solve the problems of the world,” said Jeanne sadly, holding
ba
ck her tears. “And he had to go...”
 The beautiful view seemed funereal to us as we stood there silently.
“And in Dallas,”
 I mused aloud.
Why there?
 A conservative and somewhat provincial city, but successful and proud of its success. We knew the mayor
a charming man
and many city fathers.
“But who did it?” I asked Teddy.
 
“I just listened to the radio and a suspect was arrested already,” he said.
 Before he mentioned the name, I thought of Lee and his rifle with the telescopic lens
. “Could it be Lee? No
,
it was impossible.”
 And driving back home, in stunned silence, we thought of Lee and the predicament he was in. But since the official version had it that Lee Harvey Oswald was the main suspect, we made our deposition at the Embassy. We did know him and we were aware of the fact he owned a rifle. We would be happy to testify as to

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