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Wyatt Reynolds · (11-27-2013)

I was born into a very well respected southern family. The Reynolds name hasn't always been Reynolds. It was changed fifty years ago to protect the “guilty.” I say guilty very loosely because my grandfather never felt guilt for what he did. Around the time of the name change, we also relocated from Texas to Alabama. My grandparents set the roots and we'd dig them in deeper from then on.

My grandfathers name was Wallace Reynolds, and this is a story he told me as a young child in the early 90's, just prior to his death.

Date: Wednesday, November 20, 1963

Location: San Antonio, Texas

Time: 11:00 PM CST

The man who in just a few days would completely uproot and relocate his family and assume the name Wallace Reynolds stood in the darkness after hours within the infamous building known as the Alamo. He stood there, awaiting the arrival of his handler known only as Mr. Z. The man who would become Wallace Reynolds of Birmingham, Alabama was born outside of Houston in 1938. He was born Nathan Johnson. A distant cousin of President Lyndon Johnson, though they'd never met in person and only spoke once.

Nathan Johnson was a contract agent for Central Intelligence. Once you're in the Agency, you don't leave the Agency. He remained a loyal foot soldier until the day he died of cancer in 1991.

Mr. Z was set to arrive any time now and was already late. He'd been in clandestine meetings for the last several weeks ironing out the final details of the plan they intend to unleash in Dallas on Friday. Now it was time. President Kennedy and his entourage would be arriving in this very city in just under twelve hours. It was time now, to do what they planned, or call it off completely. Once the green light is given, there is no turning back.

Nathan Johnson stood in the dark. He was not nervous by nature, but knowing what he may possibly do here in the extremely near future, put his nerves on a slight edge. Out of excitement, mind you. Not fear. Nathan looks at his watch. The time reads 11:12. Mr. Z is now later than he's ever been.

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
Where the hell is he?

He asks out loud in a hushed tone. It is then, that a match is struck and a lantern is lit. Mr. Z has arrived.

+++++Mr. Z+++++
I'm here. Did you think I wouldn't show up?

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
To be honest, I wasn't sure of anything.

+++++Mr. Z+++++
Were you followed?

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
Mr. Z, I'm a ghost. I'm never followed.

+++++Mr. Z+++++
Touche.

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
What's the word?

+++++Mr. Z+++++
I've spoken directly with Volunteer. He's given the green light.

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
So, he wants it that bad, huh?

Mr. Z conveniently ignores the question. The name Volunteer is code for the Vice President himself, Lyndon Johnson.

+++++Mr. Z+++++
Things are already in place.

Mr. Z unfolds a map and lays it on a wooden bench inside the old building. He places the lantern on top of it to hold it down in the slight breeze and because they obviously needed light in order to see it.

+++++Mr. Z+++++
We've studied the motorcade routes in all of the cities back in September. This is the only place that we can realistically accomplish this. In fact, Hidell found himself a job in this building here, about a month ago.

Hidell was another agent. Alek Hidell is what he was known as within the Agency. Lee Harvey Oswald is what he is known as in history. The building Mr. Z is pointing at on the map is the Texas School Book Depository building in Dealey Plaza in downtown Dallas. President Kennedy's motorcade will pass by that very building on Friday afternoon.

+++++Mr. Z+++++
Hidell will take his lunch...

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
Hidell!?

Nathan interrupts Mr. Z in an angered manner.

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
That man couldn't hit a target point blank!

+++++Mr. Z+++++
We're aware of his shooting ability. That's why we need two of you. There's other reasons, too. If you think about it, you'll understand.

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
I'm not really in the mood to think about it. I'm about to take down the most powerful man on the planet and you want me to think about it!? No! You're going to have to spell this out for me as to why that crack shot asshole is in on this!

+++++Mr. Z+++++
I don't like your tone, so I think you need to calm yourself. Alek is very important to all of us. Without him, there's no way we can pull this off and there's no way you escape!

He works in that building so he can move about undetected. He'll start the firing when Kennedy is approximately right here...

Mr. Z point to a spot on Elm Street just in front of the building on a slight curve in the road.

+++++Mr. Z+++++
The location is scouted and there's a fence here. The plan in Dallas is for their police department to be set up behind it looking on at the spectators. And keeping out any unwanted persons from behind.

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
How the hell am I going to get back there if there that strong of a police presence?

+++++Mr. Z+++++
Your uniform is already in your car.

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
What uniform?

+++++Mr. Z+++++
Your Dallas police uniform.

Anyhow, Hidell starts the shooting. He'll have time for three, maybe four if we're lucky. There's a very narrow window of opportunity here. If the Secret Service realizes what's going on quickly, they'll accelerate and get Jack Kennedy the hell out of there.

We can't let that happen.

So, your timing needs to be perfect. Hidell is going to miss with his first shot which is going to get everybody looking around. They'll be confused and won't realize right away what's happening.

The third is where you come in. You have to be perfect because your shot and Alek's need to be simultaneous. Hidell isn't good enough to take out Kennedy without taking someone else out by mistake. We're not trying to execute everybody in the damn car.

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
Who else is in the car?

+++++Mr. Z+++++
The Governor, his wife, and the First Lady. In the front are a couple of Secret Service agents.

After its done, get out of there, but be nonchalant. There is nothing to worry about. You'll be in the clear.

+++++Nathan Johnson+++++
What about Hidell?

+++++Mr. Z+++++
He'll be disposed of. You leave him to us though. Take out the President and get the hell out of Texas as soon as you can.

The meeting was over before he even knew it. His nervousness had converted over to pure adrenalin and satisfaction. He was going to kill President John F. Kennedy, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do about it.

He left the Alamo and drove straight to Dallas. When he parked outside of his motel he checked his trunk and sure enough, there was the Dallas police uniform Mr. Z told him about along with Winchester rifle and just one catridge. One shot is all he had. For Nathan Johnson, one shot is all he needed.

Date: Friday, November 22, 1963

Location: Dallas, Texas

Time: 12:15 PM CST

When Nathan woke up this morning he was calm, cool and relaxed. He'd driven by the Depository building a couple of times. Once, he even saw his accomplice, Alek Hidell, entering the building to begin work, with a long package. Undoubtedly the shitty rifle that would go down in history as the weapon that killed the President.

By noon, he was already in place. He walked along a set of railroad tracks behind the Depository building awaiting the arrival of other uniformed police officers. He was pleased to see that as they showed up, many of them carried rifles.

As spectators began to arrive and the different officers took up certain positions around the area, he noticed the position he was to take, behind the stockade fence upon the famous grassy knoll, was empty. A large Texas Live Oak tree stood in front of the fence. No one wanted their view infringed upon. After all, these police officers are human beings and creatures of habit. They'll patrol the area until the motorcade nears. After that, they'll watch the motorcade and hope to capture a glimpse of their President.

As the officers shoot the breeze with each other, they even talk about where they'll stand. Most of them pick a position on the overpass overlooking Elm Street. That leaves Nathan Johnson clear of anyone at all. Any civilians that were found milling around behind the fence was quickly ushered away by police.

It's 12:28 and people can be heard yelling and screaming just a few blocks away. The Kennedy death car is getting closer. Nathan looks up at the Depository building and notices an open window at the corner of the building, six floors up. He can't see Hidell but knows he's there.

Finally, the Presidential motorcade emerges from Main Street and turns onto Houston, flanked by motorcycle police escorts. Seconds later, it turns from Houston to Elm Street just beneath the Depository. Any normal man in Nathan Johnson's position would have his heart pounding and palms sweaty. Not, Nathan Johnson. He's not a normal man. He's killed nearly a hundred people at the orders of Central Intelligence. This was nothing more to him at this moment, than another contract about to be fulfilled. Whether it was John Kennedy or John Smith it made no difference to him.

Kennedy's car gets closer. He can see Kennedy move his hair out of his eyes. He steadies his rifle and his aim. His finger firmly upon the trigger.

POP

The first shot misses as planned. People begin to look around wondering about the sound. Kennedy included. For Nathan Johnson, time slows down to a snails pace as he dissects every millisecond instantly.

POP

The second shot.

Kennedy is hit by Hidell. A lucky shot, no doubt. Nathan looks on as he prepares to fire. Jack Kennedy reaches for his throat.

Ready...

Aim...

Steady...

A slight squeeze of the trigger...

POP

The cartridge is expelled from the barrel of the rifle nearly at the same time as Hidell's third shot. His timing was off, slightly. But the ending is all that matters. Nathan watched the President snap backwards and to the left. Consistent with a shot from where he stood. The motorcade speeds off and casually, Nathan walks away. Hundreds flock toward the building. Some toward his position. The real Dallas officers begin running toward the fence and out into Dealey Plaza. Nathan Johnson climbs into his Nash Rambler, and drives away slowly and normally.

My grandfather told me the story of how he brought down the President of the United States. As a youngster, I though it was a story he had made up. It wasn't until recently, while going through some of his possessions that I learned the truth.

Wallace Reynolds really was born Nathan Johnson. He really was a distant cousin of Lyndon Johnson. He did know Lee Oswald and even had photos to prove it. What's more, is he even had his CIA badges and credentials.

Wallace Reynolds assassinated John F. Kennedy.

He'd told me, that the plot was hatched due to Kennedy's unwillin'ness to go to war. We were in Vietnam at the time yet Kennedy had planned a full withdrawal by the end of 1964. Killin' Kennedy paved the way for President Johnson, who had overwhelmin'ly supported going to war.

Personally, my grandfather had wanted Kennedy dead anyhow. Not for war purposes mind you, but because of the Civil Rights movement that had been ragin' in the south during that time. Kennedy had bent himself over backwards to help the niggas at every turn and for that reason alone, my grandfather felt no guilt whatsoever over what he'd done.

I'm filled with a great deal of pride in bein' his grandson.

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