Birthday II: Sixth Floor Museum

 

For my birthday celebration Little One came over on Saturday and she, the Mrs, and I drove down to Dallas. After five years in Texas I was finally going to visit the Sixth Floor Museum in Dealey Plaza. The museum resides in what was once known as the Texas School Book Depository, where Lee Harvey Oswald worked 63 years ago, and on the sixth floor he fired the lethal rifle shots that killed President John F. Kennedy.

About fifteen years ago I did a huge deep dive into the JFK assassination. Before that I had seen the Oliver Stone film in the theaters, and over one Memorial Day weekend five or six years later analyzed the book Six Seconds in Dallas by Josiah Thompson. Over a two-year period around 2009 / 2010 I put away a dozen books on the event. The most convincing ones I found were Case Closed  by Gerald Posner and the magnum opus 1,650-page Reclaiming History by prosecutor-turned-researcher Vincent Bugliosi (I did not read all 1,650 pages).

I believe with about 95 percent certainty that Oswald was the lone gunman. However, all those connections he had – with the military, the CIA, the mafia, the left-wing, the Soviet Union – seem almost beyond coincident and its understandable why so many fall down this tantalizingly intriguing conspiracy rabbit hole.

Here are some pics (of the 135 I took!) from my visit to the museum:

This is a scale model of Dealey Plaza used by the FBI during the initial investigation back in 1963. Forget the exact scale, but it was something like 1 inch = 3 feet. The diorama was huge, maybe 10 feet by 10 feet by 6 feet in height.

Me looking at the Sniper's Perch, that sunlit corner twelve or fifteen feet beyond the glass partition, where Oswald fired the shots from the Mannlicher-Carcano rifle.

Took this pic because I have never seen it anywhere else: the interior of the 1961 Lincoln Continental which drove JFK, Jackie, Governor Connelly and his wife, and two secret service men on that terrible day. You can sort of see how the jump seats in the middle, which look folded up, are slightly lower and more centered, than the rear seat in which JFK sat. 

There were lots of memorabilia for JFK, Oswald, and Ruby. For some odd reason I found these brass knuckles and pistol holster, found in Ruby's car after killing Oswald, interesting. He really was a rough fellow, mob connections and strip club ownership and all.

Since the sixth floor Sniper's Perch was closed off by a glass partition, you had to go up to the seventh floor to look out for the approximate view Oswald would have had. It's not as far as you'd think. There are five vehicles following the curve on the right side, Elm Street. The middle vehicle just passed the X mark where JFK suffered the fatal head shot.

Directly outside the Texas School Book Depository, renamed the Dallas County Administrative Building many decades now. Oswald fired from the square window six stories up from ground level on the far right.

The famous Grassy Knoll. The fence, where there may or may not have been another shooter, has been replaced several times in the past 63 years, but always with a replica for historical reasons. The knoll itself is a slight incline of about 20 degrees, and it's about sixty or seventy feet from the sidewalk on Elm to the wooden fence.

Hopper posing at the wooden fence, smiling at photographer Little One after scouring the ground for any evidence which might have been overlooked of a second gunman.

The spot in the middle of Elm Street where JFK received the fatal wound.

Birthday I

 

My birthday fell in the middle of the week a few days back. Unfortunately, I was the only one around. Well, me and the dog. The Mrs. was in Houston. My oldest was 45 minutes away in her apartment still adjusting to her new teaching gig. My youngest was 1,640 miles away at college. So it was just me. Which I don’t mind. I shun the limelight. However, I was plummeting head over heels into full-blown sickness.

That sickness is viral bronchitis. I’ve gotten it several times over the past decade; in fact, it’s pretty much the only way I get sick. However, and maybe this is due to the dry heat of Texas, I haven’t gotten it in over three years, whereas up in Jersey I was lucky if a winter went by without me catching it.

So I knew it – knew it! – back on Monday when I first felt a little … off. The wife had just left to drive the four hours to Houston, where she’d be inspecting her team and counters down there until Thursday night. I got a bite to eat and when I got home something didn’t feel right. A little dizzy, a little woozy, but nothing debilitating. I thought nothing further of it.

The next two days I went in to work. The first day I was fine. The second day I felt a little fatigued. When I got home, the coughing started. Not much, but just enough to set my warning bells off. There was a family FaceTime to wish my youngest a happy 18th birthday (she was born the day before my birthday). After hanging up, I decided to take a hot bath, because suddenly I was flat out exhausted.

I slept mostly through the night, though drained of energy. The coughing deepened and grew more frequent, and I became aware of phlegm or mucus in my chest that needed to come out. I had taken the day as PTO, so with nothing pressing I basically sat in a chair for three hours and watched YouTube videos. Finally I mustered strength to drive to CVS in the 95 degree heat. I bought Robitussin, four orange Vitamin Waters, and powdered vitamin C, and began aggressively self-medicating.  

My daughter planned on driving over to watch a movie with me, but I canceled. Didn’t want her to get sick and, well, just didn’t feel up to it. The next two days I struggled and while I didn’t get better, I didn’t get worse. But I had to get better for the birthday weekend, because we had things planned. So off to CareNow I went, in search of potent medication.

In the past azithromycin always cured me. But for some reason the doctors never want to give that to me. Yes, it’s an antibiotic and the bronchitis is viral, but from what I understand, the sickness begins as viral and transitions to a bacterial form. Usually after 7-10 days of infection. Well, I was on Day 6, and I wanted a z-pack.

They insisted on giving me a … ready for this … a Covid test. Now I know I didn’t have Covid. I was more than familiar with how a bronchial infection feels and what it does. But I guess the good folks at CareNow get reimbursed $$$ for every Covid test they administer, so they take every opportunity to administer a test. As expected, it came back negative. The doctor gave me a prescription for azithromycin, and off I went.

Before he left I asked for some off-the-cuff speculation: Could my pulmonary vein stenosis problems after my atrial fibrillation ablations fifteen years ago make me more susceptible to bronchial infections? He admitted that yes, what I went through could have “changed the architecture” of my pulmonary system where it cannot clean out infections as optimally as it should. Though he caveated this was not his specialty, and I assured him I wouldn’t hold him to his opinion.

Now, less than 24 hours later, I am a thousand times better, though still coughing. The new cough suppressant allowed me to sleep mostly though the night (I was getting 4.5 hours a night the previous three days). Plus the z-pack is knocking the infection out very quickly, as it always does. I’m ready to go back to work tomorrow. Well, physically that is.

Coming next: Parts II and III, where I detail what we did for my birthday, with pictures. It made a lousy birthday a million times better. In fact, it was probably the funnest birthday I’ve had down here in Texas.

 

College Road Trip II

 

Saturday morning of the 22nd was warm and sunny as we pulled away at 8:20. The wife said a tearful goodbye to Patch and I as we drove off … and had to return from a couple blocks away realizing we forgot one of her gifts. On our second departure we stopped at Sprouts for some snacks and sandwiches, and hit the highway.

 

We made good time that day. Patch, with her newly-minted drivers license, volunteered for two hours behind the wheel as we crossed into Arkansas. We drove over the Mississippi, watched the Corolla’s odometer flip from 129,999 to 130,000 with much aplomb, drove through the briefest of rainstorms (the only time on the College Road Trip it rained while we were in the car), and avoided a five-mile-long traffic jam (thanks Waze!). There was a little drama as we encountered what had to be a drunk driver – swerving, accelerating, braking, and even once riding right up to my bumper.

 

Patch found us a hotel via Priceline at a Comfort Suites in Lebanon, TN. We stopped for dinner at a connecting restaurant (I had a cheeseburger, she a Caesar’s salad). Next morning we raided the continental breakfast and checked out, back on the road by 10. Patch volunteered more time behind the wheel – this time, three hours! – as we meandered through the gorgeous Appalachians in Eastern Tennessee and Virginia. Dinner was short and sweet at a Wendy’s. (Our first choice was Chik-fil-A, but we couldn’t figure out why it was closed, until we realized it was a Sunday.) By mistake Patch booked a hotel 140 miles up the road, so we continued on through West Virginia, Virginia, Maryland, and up to New Columbia, Pennsylvania in the dark until we stopped at a Comfort Inn by 9:30 pm.

 

After another continental breakfast raid we were back on the road by 9:30. We had but four hours to reach my parent’s home in Pennsylvania’s northeast corner. What a joy and blessing it was to arrive at their house that afternoon. I rewarded myself with two Heineken NAs as Patch unboxed all the college dorm supplies we had shipped. My mom made us taco soup with large egg noodles for dinner. They went to bed by 8, and Patch and I stayed up a little bit longer, watched a Matt Pat video (why the eagles couldn’t just fly Frodo to Mount Doom) and a funny, over-the-top cartoonishly gory Cory Kenshin game.

 

Tuesday was a day of leisure. The weather was overcast and cool – at least by Texas standards. After egg-in-the-baskets we drove to a thrift shop where Patch bought a couple of black shirts and I picked up He Leadeth Me by Walter Ciszek and the St Joseph Baltimore Catechism. Back home Patch made 60 – sixty! – cookies, which she planned to hand out at school to her dormmates the next day. My parents took us out to dinner (and my mother bought me a T-shirt the restaurant sold). Then, taking advantage of the remaining daylight, we loaded my stepfather’s Camry with Patch’s supplies, and everything fit, though we accidently broke her five-foot long mirror. Another Cory video, then bedtime.

 

Wednesday was school drop off day. My mother joined us as we left around 8:30, again after packing a couple of sandwiches. I drove to Patch’s school 90 minutes away. We arrived by 10:15 and I was so impressed with the school’s handling of Move In Day. It seemed there was a student helper in school colors every fifty feet to answer questions. We were guided to the building where Patch picked up her ID and room keys, then were guided to her dorm itself. We drove up a short winding road and parked – and were immediately surrounded by a dozen students who helped unload the car completely and brought everything up to her room on the third floor. Turns out the building was elevator-free, so those college kids saved me a potential heart attack or two.

 

We spent the next three hours unpacking and setting up her room. Her roommate and her family were there, too (we met them a few weeks earlier at a school mixer in Texas). A quick trip to Target for a pillow and replacement mirror, and we ate our sandwiches. Patch gave us a quick tour of the campus (what she remembered from her visit the prior summer), which included the student center, the bookstore (I bought a pen, my mother a shot glass, and Patch a school pennant and key chain). We made a quick stop at the chapel, which was cool and peaceful.

 

Then – the Goodbye. Patch hugged her grammy and then me. I had a lump in my throat as we said our farewells. Our eyes met one last time for the briefest – and longest – of moments, then she disappeared inside her dorm. My mom and I then drove home.

 

Thursday was another day of relaxation for me before my solo return voyage. My mother brought me to three local bookstores she found, and I wound up purchasing The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo, Dr. No by Ian Fleming, and the Civil War nonfiction paperback Terrible Swift Sword by Bruce Catton. She also gifted me with eight of my stepfather’s golf shirts he no longer fits into. We ate at a locally-famous wing place for dinner, then I read and relaxed after we got back home.

 

I left Pennsylvania at 8:20 Friday morning and pretty much drove straight through until checking in to a Red River Inn at 6:15. I went out for dinner at – finally! – Chik-fil-A. I chatted with the Mrs. for a bit, showered, then read a hundred or so pages of my current read, Father Elijah by Michael D. O’Brien. I left again at 8:20 the next morning, stopped at a McD’s for dinner (and used a minimum-wage-worker replacement kiosk for the first time), then checked into a Super 8 at 6:30, and repeated my evening ritual. Left at 9:25 on Sunday and got home in Texas a little before 2 pm.

 

My 23-hour-drive home was quite an experience for me. I did not listen to any music or the audio book I downloaded. I kept the odometer between 75 and 80 and let anyone and everyone pass me whoever wanted, no questions asked. It was an extraordinary Zen drive for me. I thought a lot – a lot – about big, existential questions. I was floored by the utmost beauty of middle America – Virginia and Eastern Tennessee standing out to me, as well as sections of Pennsylvania, Arkansas, and West Virginia. The time and the miles flew by inexplicably fast, and when I got home, I was ready to go back on the road again.

 

All-in-all, the College Road Trip of 2026 had a total mileage of 3,135. Basically the distance between Augusta, Maine and San Diego, California. My old 2013 Toyota Corolla drove like a champ, the unspoken MVP of the trip, never giving us a scare, never failing us. My 18 hours driving out and 23 hours driving back was easily a record for me. Patch herself impressed me with five hours behind the wheel with 18-wheelers in front, back, and beside, with no issue at all despite still being a brand-new driver. It was a great tip, a great bonding experience. We talked about college, about life, nostalgically chatted about things past, and things that might happen in the future. She napped in the passenger seat and I looked at her, remembering all those pictures she drew as a child, all those soccer games and practices I watched her, and all those times we made each other laugh.

 

All-in-all, a great Road Trip.