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JVB ARTICLE JFK Deep Politics Quarterly October 2012 ... any thoughts? Part One
  •   
    Wondered if you guys had any opinions regarding this article I co-wrote with Walt Brown?


    Also see my YouTube Channel at:
    https://www.youtube.com/user/blindjfk


    From JFK Deep Politics Quarterly October 2012 issue
    Info :http://www.manuscriptservice.com/DPQ/



    Judyth Vary Baker:
         Fake or Fraud?

          Part One of at least Two Parts
                       --by Chuck Ochelli
                         and Walt Brown

        
    It was December 2, 2002, and the snow was fresh on the ground from a
    modest storm overnight when a rental car containing Nigel Turner arrived
    in my driveway.
         After shaking hands and realizing my directions
    from England to Hillsdale had been pretty good, he got down to the
    business of “The Men Who Killed Kennedy.”
           He would later bring
    in a small ‘gym bag’ that held not only his overnight kit and gear, but
    also all of his film equipment, but prior to that, he wanted to ask me
    about the people he was having on Episodes VII, VIII, and IX.
           
    He had spent a lot of time with Jay Harrison, so I suspected my
    opinions would be measured against Jay’s, although I assumed they did
    not have to be identical.
            Obviously, we were both going to
    give excellent marks to Nathan Darby for his incredible dedication to
    one fingerprint.  
           Also at that time, pre-publication, we both had high hopes for Barr McClellan, proving that one out of two is not bad.
        
    I had not met some of his guests—the woman who took the LBJ call at
    Parkland to get a confession, and the people who saw the hole in the
    limousine windshield, so I had no opinion.
          For the most part, I
    still don’t, because if those people hadn’t seen a hole in the
    windshield, Nigel Turner would certainly not have put them on TV.
          
    Then he came to Judyth Baker, and I told him that in my own private
    opinion, I didn’t believe a word, nay a syllable of her story.  I
    immediately added, however, that there were a few researchers whose
    expertise I very much respected, and since they were “on board” with
    her, I’d keep my opinion to myself for the moment.
             Since
    that time, I’ve had the opportunity to read the 2010 Trine Day edition
    of her ever-changing story, and I’ve had the once-in-a-lifetime
    opportunity (hopefully ONLY once) to hear her constantly expand upon her
    story, and where I had previously said I wouldn’t believe a syllable,
    we can now narrow that disenchantment down to “one phoneme.”
            
    Chuck Ochelli, “the blind researcher on YouTube” and I have conversed
    at length on the subject of Ms. Baker’s veracity, and when he told me
    the latest snippet from a talk show, we decided it was time to share
    opinions with the JFK/DPQ readership.
          The most recent story was
    that it was she who bought Lee Oswald the shirt that HE—not Billy
    Lovelady—was wearing in the doorway of the Book Depository as the
    limousine coursed down Elm Street with the President already in
    distress.
           Her story was corroborated by someone named Fetzer,
    who alleged that the Altgens photograph (“Altgens 6”) in question had
    been altered, to make it look like Lovelady and like he was wearing a
    shirt other than Judy’s.
          Wow!  It is too bad the Lovelady
    family did not have that information years ago, because people who
    obviously would have not believed the Baker story broke into the
    Lovelady residences—they had to move frequently—just to try to steal the
    famous shirt.
           Billy Lovelady would wind up dead in Colorado
    c. 1974, as the family had had to constantly move to stay one step ahead
    of the shirt thieves.
          If they only knew…
        
         
  • Part TWO

      

          So Chuck and
    I decided we would share our collected thoughts on Ms. Baker, and
    regardless of whether you believe her or not (and those statistics are
    very one-sided, AGAINST), what you will read in this two or more part
    segment will hopefully suffice to help you form your own opinion if
    still undecided.  
            I should add that the researchers I noted
    earlier as believing Baker’s story, have since left that particular
    reservation, making this chore somewhat more painless.
          I’m
    going to start with tipping points from her book, with three in
    particular, and then we’ll go to Chuck’s vast recording collection and
    she what she has been saying to enhance each bit of the story.
          
    It also needs to be said that if you follow the comments from “The Men
    Who Killed Kennedy,” to her two-volume book, to the one volume re-make,
    to subsequent statements, it is easy to hypothesize that each time she
    reads something new about her alleged paramour, Lee Oswald, she adds a
    new niche to the story.
            
            My pre-reading qualm
    about the 2010 volume was that while it was filled with “documentary
    proof” the proof was empty.  Did she not possess one photo of herself
    and Lee, or has the CIA broken into her hideout in Denmark to steal it? 
    There is no pictures of her with her friend “Sparky,” the bodybuilder
    who ran a strip club in Dallas, or with Ferrie, the cancer researcher.
            
    There is, however, a photograph of her, her sister, and her mother, on
    page 7, and I defy anyone to look at that photograph and NOT think that
    she is David Ferrie’s daughter.
          There’s a title for the next
    horror movie to hit the big screen:  “The Spawn from Hell.”  She’s not
    Ferrie’s daughter of course, unless in New Orleans, men can give birth.
           Don’t laugh.  Things are very different in New Orleans.
           
    One amazing difference is in the language.  Ms. Baker arrived in the
    Big Easy at virtually the same time that Oswald got there when he
    skipped out of Dallas, either because he was afraid of being the Walker
    patsy, or that someone would have recognized him distributing FPCC
    literature in Dallas.  In a chance occurrence, they both were at a
    postal counter at the same time, and when an envelope was dropped by one
    of them, the other retrieved it, and Judyth immediately began a
    conversation with Lee Oswald in Russian.
             Does HE look
    Slavic?  The local ski area that I visit two or three times a year has a
    good number of Slavic customers, and they’re easy to recognize, and I
    can usually get a conversation going in Russian.
            But Oswald
    just doesn’t have that Slavic look, and considering the political
    ideology of New Orleans then (or now), it is highly likely that this
    episode in the Baker—Oswald relationship has got to be the only time two
    strangers ever got acquainted in a New Orleans post office because one
    of them decided to break out in song in Russian.
             Nice touch,
    but it doesn’t hold up.  From that point forward, there is scarce
    mention of the two lovers communicating in Russian, which would have
    been an ideal cover for their privacy, if it had been even remotely
    possible.
             As the reader by now is aware, I don’t believe the
    Lee Oswald that we knew about could ever have learned Russian, and
    while I don’t doubt Baker’s brilliance, I don’t see her speaking Russian
    straight out of St. Petersburg, Florida.
  • PART THREE

      

          In discussing this
    once on a talk radio show, she was asked to speak some Russian and she
    fobbed the question off saying it had been too long, and she’d
    forgotten, blah blah.
             My Russian basically stinks, but I can
    remember all that I learned back in 2007—2008, and I’ve been obsessive
    with the Chronology since then and have paid no attention to the Russian
    language, but I kept enough bottled up to still translate some World
    War II video comments.  There are words and phrases in that tongue that
    one just does not forget.  
         That was my first problem with her
    narrative, and frankly, it just seemed so “out of left field” that it
    made me cautious for the rest.
          Good thing, too.
         
    Concern number two was the “shock” that the Oswald in the post office
    language scene would lead up to—a clever technique in fiction.
         
    Literally within hours of her arrival in New Orleans, this brilliant
    teenager, who had not even really established contact with the
    “scientists” who had invited her TO New Orleans, nevertheless followed
    Oswald everywhere, and was instantly inside a far-reaching conspiracy.
           
    She knew all the players, and knew them well, from Ferrie to “Sparky”
    Rubenstein, whom she competed with in physical abilities in the midst of
    a serious conspiracy meeting.
           She was fully aware that the
    cancer research that the conspiracy was focused on was to create a
    cancer-inducing drug, essentially taken from live cancer cells in
    Ferrie’s rats’ nest, and turn it into some manner of serum that could be
    injected into a person.
           Subsequently, that person would
    suddenly contract and quickly die from cancer.  This, of course,
    explains the sudden passing, in 1967, of Sparky.
           But the work
    was vital, because the serum had to be injected into Fidel Castro, and
    it had to “take” and he had to succumb from it by the date of a rapidly
    approaching deadline.
            If THAT initiative failed, “the plotters” were going to kill John F. Kennedy instead.
           
    So, along with Ferrie, Sparky, Banister, Drs. Oschner and Sherman, and
    Ferrie’s band of merry boys, the group went ahead with their
    preventative conspiracy; they would kill Castro to save Kennedy.
          
    One has to extend belief to imagine that such a serum which, if
    perfected, could be routinely injected into Fidel Castro.  Of course,
    one’s belief is already extended well out of what we traditionally
    define as reality to imagine that the rats and mice that Ferrie
    had—which sometimes were harvested by Judyth and other times by Oswald
    or someone else—could produce such a drug.
             But the real
    kicker is that a total stranger—a teenage girl just off the bus from
    Florida—would simply be taken wholly inside a conspiracy to kill a
    foreign head of state, with no questions asked, and solely on proximity
    to Lee Oswald—a proximity which I doubt existed.
            And, of
    course, all rational belief must be suspended to imagine that David
    Ferrie, Guy Banister, and Alton Oschner were working feverishly on a
    project in order to save President Kennedy from the murder that awaited
    him in the fall of 1963.
           Baker backs up her claims in regard
    to the virus by telling of a journey she and Oswald took; he drove, of
    course.  They went up to the mental institution in Jackson, Louisiana
    and injected patients that had specifically been brought there to see if
    the serum, as it existed prior to Oswald’s departure for Mexico, would
    work.
            Put another way, she confessed to her own guilt in a
    conspiracy to kill a foreign leader, as well as to being an accessory to
    the murders or attempted murders of the patients in the Louisiana
    mental hospital.
            Oswald’s reason for going to Mexico was to
    hand over a thermos full of the deadly liquid to a contact, a meeting
    that had been arranged through “Mr. B,” presumably Maurice Bishop whom
    we know as David Atlee Phillips.
            She knew he was in the Latin loop, so she might as well have made use of him to further her narrative.
           
    Oswald was unable to make the proper contact to hand over the thermos
    (Kostikov didn’t want it?) so he surrendered it to a different, back-up
    contact before he re-crossed the border into Mexico.
            His
    failure in that regard, and the failure to kill Castro, meant, among
    other things, that Abraham Zapruder would come into a lot of money, and
    that she and her star-crossed defector lover would not be able to live
    out their dream of running off and living the good life in the Yucutan
    Peninsula in Mexico.
               I’ll give her credit; she does have an imagination.
           

  • PART FOUR

             
    The final of the three red flags promised at the outset of this Part I
    was something reasonably minor that occurred in New Orleans.  
             
    Occasionally, she and Lee would do piece-work in a large shop that
    stocked Mardi Gras items and spent the entire post-Mardi Gras season
    getting ready for the next one.
           Accordingly, in the summer of
    1963, she and Lee were hired on a per-hour or per piece job to paint
    “New Orleans” onto existing figurines.
            Baker apparently did
    her job well—after all, she was a brilliant scientist and any idiot can
    paint the same ten letters over and over again.
           Except Lee Oswald.  
          
    His work had to be suspended, and he was given other tasks to perform
    because he was spelling the “New” in New Orleans with the letters “Wen.”
            At that point, I knew this story was absolute fiction—and lousy fiction at that, from the front to the back cover.
           
    One of my reasons for insisting that Oswald could never have had any
    serious Russian skills stemmed from the fact that he was seriously
    handicapped in his native language, which some suspect to have been
    English.
             We are familiar with his spelling fiascos:  “rist”
    for “wrist” “opion” for “opinion,” “negleck” for “neglect,” and 110
    other anomalies that I’ve found in his English writings (although his
    spelling of Russian words was near perfect, and better than that of most
    Russians…)
              A Dr. Howard Rome of the Mayo Clinic in
    Rochester, Minnesota studied Oswald’s English and found him seriously
    disabled, with possible concerns in dyslexia and dysgraphia—the ability
    to read and write language, respectively.
             I strongly believe
    Ms. Baker had read somewhere about these problems that Oswald had, but
    when she cited his failure to paint “New” and instead created “Wen,” she
    not only created a new language disability that never existed, but she
    also turned the entire episode into one worthy of nothing but ridicule.
           
    Dyslexia and dysgraphia involve “reversals,” but only of single
    letters:  “b” instead of “d,” “q” instead of “p,” and other variations.
           
    But there is no symptom in which the individual reverses all the
    letters in a word, and there is certainly no known symptom on the planet
    earth in which someone born in New Orleans, someone who spent fully
    more than half his life there, someone who went to multiple schools
    there, would not be able to spell a three letter word that was part of
    his home.
             It is simply impossible, yet it’s Baker’s way of
    “proving” that she really did know and spend so much time with Lee
    Oswald, who would eventually, in her narrative, die a hero’s death,
    because Sparky could not allow Oswald to be moved to Sheriff Decker’s
    jail where the most heinous—even worse than the CIA or listening to
    Howard Cosell—tortures awaited him.
             Sparky:  the angel of Mercy.
            
    There are many, many other red flags in her narrative, and at least a
    few of them got tossed into the Chronology stew, simply because the
    events were offered as “facts.”   Their accuracy or their incongruities,
    like facts offered by Marina Oswald, Ruth Paine, Larry Crafard, Oleg
    Nechiporenko or, God help us, Arlen Specter, were put where they fit
    into the Chronology, and if they could be corroborated, they were.  If
    they could be contradicted, they were.
             Baker outpolled both
    Specter and Nechiporenko in the “contradicted” category, and before
    reading her book, I would have thought it impossible.
            At
    least she succeeded in that.  She admits that her family has disowned
    her—understandably so, and that she has had to remain in hiding or she
    would be killed for what she knows.  After all, she can spell “New”
    correctly, and the statistics nationwide on murders of people who can do
    that would surprise you.
            She was also fed ground glass recently in an attempted assassination, but it failed because it was detected in time.
          
    It makes me wonder…how could she detect a murder attempt using ground
    glass—an almost salt-like powder, but earnestly believe that someone
    would have been able to inject Fidel Castro with a serum that would have
    quickly killed him.
            Wake up, lady. If you can inject Castro
    with this wonder, cancer-inducing drug, why not just stick the syringe
    in his arm with the same chemicals that are used in the U.S. in lieu of
    the gas chamber or the electric chair.  
            Push the plunger and say Adios.
            No.  That’s too easy.  The plot needs to be a little thicker.   
           
    It’s thicker, all right, but I won’t bother you with the chemical agent
    that has created the thickness.   At the same time, try NOT to step in
    it.
           Part II:  The legend grows on the airwaves, coming in
    January, unless the assassins have gotten to her by then, in which case
    it will be held for the April issue.
           I promise there will be some “Wen” revelations in that story.






  • I hope This article is of interest

    Also see my YouTube Channel at:
    https://www.youtube.com/user/blindjfk

    JFK Deep Politics Quarterly
    Info :http://www.manuscriptservice.com/DPQ/




    Thanks for reading,

    Chuck Ochelli
    AKA
    "The Blind JFK Researcher on YouTube" and elsewhere