It
should be noted here that it has never made any sense at all why John
Wilkes Booth would have chosen Ford’s Theatre as the ideal site to
assassinate the president. As eyewitness Edwin Bates noted the day after
the shooting, “the probability was that the man when found would be
discovered to be some insane person, that the lowest depths of human
depravity even in a rebel of the worst type would not permit to commit
such a horrible deed in so bold a manner before thousands of people
& where there could be so little chance of escape.” (Timothy S.
Good We Saw Lincoln Shot, University Press of Mississippi, 1995)
As
H. Donald Winkler has written, there were numerous opportunities to
kill Lincoln that would not have put the assassin at such high risk of
capture: “the president had made himself an easy target. He stole away
for solitary walks, especially at night. He held public receptions where
security was almost nonexistent. He conferred with generals in the
field. He stood atop a parapet at Fort Stevens on the outskirts of
Washington for a clear view of Jubal Early’s approaching Confederate
forces as soldiers around him were shot dead. He attended the theater
frequently. He had walked virtually unguarded through the streets of the
fallen Confederate capital. When he and his family stayed at his summer
retreat at the Soldiers Home on the outskirts of Washington, he often
rode back and forth to the White House in an unguarded carriage. Nearly
every night, before going to bed, he strolled without protection down a
densely shaded path through the White House grounds to the War
Department’s telegraph office to learn the latest news from the war
front.” (H. Donald Winkler Lincoln and Booth, Cumberland House, 2003)
The
only conceivable reason to carry out the mission at Ford’s was to make
the assassination as much of a public spectacle as possible. Which was
also true, of course, of the events that played out in Dealey Plaza on
November 22, 1963, and the events that played out in New York on
September 11, 2001. If there had been television in 1865, you can bet
that the cameras would have been rolling in Ford’s Theatre on the night
of April 14.
Beginning at about 10:30 PM or shortly
thereafter on that particular evening, a curious series of events
played out in Washington, DC. At about that time, according to the
official narrative, a man riding hell-bent-for-leather to get out of
town approached the Navy Yard Bridge. The bridge though was closed due
to a curfew imposed by the War Department, and armed guards were under
standing orders not to let anyone cross without official authorization.
The
rider on the swift horse allegedly identified himself as John Wilkes
Booth. He did not, of course, need to do that. It wasn’t as if the
guard, Silas Cobb, was going to ask him for an ID to verify his
identity. In those days, a man had to be taken at his word as to who he
really was. Those engaged in activities that could earn you jail time,
or worse, generally used an array of aliases. But the guy who had
allegedly committed the ‘Crime of the Century’ just minutes earlier
purportedly used his real name.
In that regard,
Booth was a very accommodating kind of guy. Earlier in the day, when he
had supposedly stopped by the Kirkwood House to visit Vice President
Johnson – a guy supposedly slated to be assassinated just hours later –
Booth had thoughtfully left a calling card. According to Capt. Theodore
McGowan, he left another one at the entrance to the presidential box at
Ford’s Theatre: “He took a small pack of visiting-cards from his pocket,
selecting one and replacing the others, stood a second, perhaps, with
it in his hand, and then showed it to the President’s messenger, who was
sitting just below him.” Booth was a big believer, it seems, in
dropping breadcrumbs along the evidence trail.
Silas
Cobb, for reasons that historians have never been able to explain, and
often have never attempted to explain, allowed the rider to pass over
the closed bridge and into Maryland. Cobb was never reprimanded or
punished in any way for allowing the president’s assassin to escape the
city – which is okay, I suppose, since the same is true of everyone else
who blatantly ‘dropped the ball’ that night.
Just
minutes later, another rider looking to cross into Maryland approached
the bridge. This rider, who would later be identified in the official
narrative as David Herold, failed to properly identify himself. He was,
nevertheless, also allowed to cross the officially closed bridge.
Minutes after that, a third rider supposedly approached the bridge. This
one, local stableman John Fletcher, was supposedly in hot pursuit of
David Herold.
Fletcher would later claim that he
had seen Herold riding through town on a horse that was supposed to have
been returned, and, fearing that the horse was being stolen, he had run
back to his stables, saddled and mounted another horse, and took off in
pursuit of Herold. Cobb supposedly told Fletcher that he would let him
pass, once again in violation of standing orders, but that he wouldn’t
be able to return, so Fletcher abandoned his alleged pursuit and
returned to his stables.
This alleged sequence of
events raises any number of deeply troubling questions that historians
have done their very best to avoid answering, or even addressing. First
and most obviously, why were both Booth and Herold allegedly allowed to
pass over a closed bridge despite standing orders to the contrary?
Another obvious question is how would John Fletcher have possibly known,
after going to fetch his own horse, which way David Herold was headed
on the dark streets of Washington?
Yet another
painfully obvious question is why would John Wilkes Booth have given his
real name? True enough, this was 1865 and travel was by horseback and
the world was not a connected sort of place, so Booth would have been
confident that Cobb would have had no clue yet about the shooting of
Lincoln. But pursuers would surely be on the way very soon, with Ford’s
Theatre just three miles away, and tipping them off as to your flight
path probably isn’t such a good idea.
The next obvious question is why didn’t pursuers
arrive there shortly after this sequence of events? Indeed, why didn’t
anyone arrive there throughout the entire night? Secretary of War Edwin
Stanton, who quickly assumed control of the manhunt, had an impressive
array of manpower at his disposal: federal troops, metro police, cavalry
troops, provost marshals, and Lafayette Baker’s NDP detectives. Yet
none of them ever made their way over to the Navy Yard Bridge, though it
was well known as an underground Confederate route.
Manpower
was deployed first to the north and northwest, the least likely escape
routes. The only hole in the dragnet throughout the entire night was the
underground route to the South across the Navy Yard Bridge, which was
never mentioned that night in any War Department dispatches. Had anyone
involved in the manhunt – anyone at all – bothered to stop by the Navy
Yard Bridge, it would have been quickly discovered that Booth and a
likely accomplice had crossed over into Maryland. But that didn’t happen
and pursuers were instead sent on wild goose chases throughout the
night.
Another less obvious question is why was
Booth so woefully unprepared for his escape? He had to assume that he
was going to have to hide out for a time and/or survive on the trail.
Why then did he bring no provisions with him? No change of clothes, no
bedroll or blanket, no weapons other than his dagger, no toiletries or
razor, no food. Nothing that would be required for survival on the road.
And the same was true of Herold.
Why would Booth,
or any reasonably sane person, plot an assassination at a venue from
which escape was highly unlikely? Why would the very first phase of that
escape involve an incredibly risky leap onto a hard stage floor while
wearing riding boots with spurs? Why would his escape route necessitate
crossing a bridge that he had no reasonable expectation of being allowed
to cross? And why would he have failed to bring along any provisions to
survive during his time on the lam?
There is also
the question of why there was a two to three-hour interruption in
telegraph service in and out of Washington following the assassination.
Stanton had been installed as Secretary of War in January 1862 on the
recommendation of Secretary of State William Seward. On February 14,
Lincoln had signed Executive Order #1, giving Stanton the power of
arbitrary arrest. That too had been at Seward’s urging. By early March,
Stanton had assumed control of all the nation’s telegraph lines and had
the machinery comprising the hub of the system moved to the War
Department offices. He would soon seize control of the country’s
transportation system as well.
In addition to the
civilian telegraph system, the War Department had its own system as
well, to transmit secure news and updates on the war effort. Both
systems were housed next to Stanton’s office at the War Department. On
the night of April 14, the civilian telegraph service was out for up to
three hours following the assassination, disrupting communications in
and out of Washington. That curious fact was never publicly
acknowledged. There was also an unexplained delay in getting the news
out on the War Department’s telegraph service. The first dispatch
concerning the shooting of Lincoln was not written until 1:30 AM, more
than three hours after the events at Ford’s Theatre; it wasn’t sent
until 2:15 AM, some four hours after the curtain fell at Ford’s.
Then
there were the curious actions of LA Gobright, the Associated Press
agent in the nation’s capitol. At around 11:00 PM, he sent out his first
dispatch, which was oddly vague and lacking in details. Even odder, he
quickly followed it with a second dispatch instructing recipients that
the first message was “stopped.” Gobright, it should be noted, was very
close to the scene and knew what had gone down. He supposedly rushed
over to Ford’s immediately after the shooting and is credited with being
the guy who allegedly found the derringer on the floor of the box,
where it had conveniently been left behind but had apparently not been
noticed by anyone else. I guess securing the crime scene wasn’t a big
priority in those days, even when it was the scene of the Crime of the
Century, so it was up to reporters to gather the physical evidence.
And
some of you probably thought that having controlled assets in the media
was some kind of mid-20th century innovation that began with Operation
Mockingbird. Guess again.
Yet another problem with
the official story is that this was supposed to be a very well planned,
coordinated attack on multiple targets. The attacks on President Lincoln
in Ford’s Theatre, Secretary of State William Seward in his family
home, Vice President Andrew Johnson in his hotel room, and possibly
Secretary of War Edwin Stanton in his family home, were supposed to
occur simultaneously, which would have been an extremely difficult
operation to pull off given the limitations in communications in those
days.
A considerable amount of research and
planning would have had to go into such an ambitious project. But the
reality is that it wasn’t known that the Lincolns were going to be
attending Ford’s Theatre until the very day that Lincoln was shot, which
didn’t leave a lot of time to plan such an intricate series of attacks.
Yet we are to believe the plan was thwarted only by such things as
Lewis Powell’s ineptitude with a knife and George Adzerodt’s cowardice.
And
if there was an extensive amount of planning done, then why was no
thought apparently given to the aftermath and escape? Lewis Powell never
made it out of the city and supposedly ended up hiding out in a tree
for a few days. Booth chose an escape route that included a dangerous
jump onto a stage floor in front of hundreds of potential pursuers,
followed by heading directly to a closed bridge under armed guard. And
then he was off into the wilderness for an extended stay, with a broken
leg and no provisions.
One aspect of the events of
that day that is frequently downplayed is the late cancellation by
General Ulysses Grant and his wife, which was highly unusual. Declining a
presidential invitation was all but unthinkable in those days;
canceling at the eleventh hour was obviously an even worse affront.
Especially when this was to be a major historical event – the first
joint public appearance of the victorious president and his heroic
general. And especially when the reason given for the cancellation –
that the Grants had to catch an evening train to go see their kids in
New Jersey – didn’t hold much water.
As Winkler has
written, “the Grants could have taken a Saturday morning train with
better connections than the six o’clock Friday evening train, which was
much slower and necessitated a long wait in Philadelphia. The morning
train would have reunited the Grants with their children just two hours
later than the earlier train.” So the Grants could have spent the
evening at the theater basking in the adulation of the crowd, then
enjoyed a good night’s sleep in Washington, and still got to their
children almost as quickly. Why then would they choose to both
inconvenience themselves and snub the president?
And
they were not the only ones to snub the president. After the
cancellation by the Grants, Lincoln asked a few other notable figures in
Washington, who all declined. One of them was Speaker of the House
Schuyler Colfax, Jr., who would, four years later, take over the
vice-president’s office. And so it was that the guys who would take over
as president and vice-president when Lincoln’s term expired both opted
to snub Lincoln on the evening of his assassination. Lucky break for
them, I guess. And the guy who immediately took over at the White House,
just as soon as he sobered up, caught a really lucky break when George
Adzerodt supposedly opted not to assassinate him.
Schuyler
Colfax, by the way, was a member of the extended van
Cortland/Schuyler/Rensselaer clan that also includes Laurel Canyon’s own
David van Cortland Crosby.
By various accounts,
Lincoln walked over to the War Department on the afternoon/evening of
April 14 to ask Stanton if Major Thomas Eckert might serve as his
guest/bodyguard that evening. Eckert had run the War Department’s
telegraph service since 1862. He was a large, powerfully built,
physically imposing man who historians agree would have provided Lincoln
with considerable protection. But Stanton refused, claiming that Eckert
had important work to do that night. In truth, Eckert would be at home
that evening, doing nothing of any importance.
Though
Eckert was ostensibly recruited by the War Department based on his
expertise with telegraph systems, he was a close confidant of Stanton
who was known to receive assignments far removed from organizing and
running communications systems. One of those assignments, as previously
noted, was as Lewis Powell’s personal guard during his confinement and
‘trial.’ Not long after completing that assignment, Eckert was rewarded
with a promotion to Assistant Secretary of War.
Yet
another longstanding problem with the official story is the unexplained
assignment of ne’er-do-well police officer John Parker as Lincoln’s
personal bodyguard, an assignment he had landed just over a week
earlier. That assignment had come, though no one really likes to talk
much about it, at the instigation of Mary Todd Lincoln. Mary wrote a
letter on April 3, 1865, handwritten on White Hose stationary, that read
as follows: “This is to certify that John F. Parker, a member of the
Metropolitan Police, has been detailed for duty at the Executive
Mansion. By order of Mrs. Lincoln.” The next day, she wrote another
requesting that Parker be exempted from the draft.
Due
directly to Mary Lincoln’s actions, it was Parker who was assigned to
guard the president at Ford’s Theatre. True to his nature, he arrived at
least two hours late for that assignment. And then promptly abandoned
his post, leaving the president unguarded. So that he could wander next
door and get good and drunk, by some accounts. He next surfaced at 6:00
AM the next morning at the police precinct, in the company of a drunken
hooker. Parker attempted to book her, but records indicate that he was
unable to make a case against her and she was released. Parker had a
habit of arresting prostitutes who refused to provide him with free
services. In any event, the important point here is that Parker
obviously had more important business to attend to than preventing the
assassination of the president.
Metro police
superintendent A.C. Richards – the same guy who the industrious AP agent
supposedly turned the derringer over to – filed charges against Parker
in May 1865. But those charges were dropped the next month without
explanation and Parker continued on in his position. Numerous questions
still surround this particular aspect of the assassination, as
summarized by H. Donald Winkler:
“Inquiring minds
should have raised the following questions regarding Mary Lincoln, Edwin
M. Stanton, and John Parker: On what basis and on whose authority did
the first lady authorize Parker’s assignment to the White House? On
whose recommendation was Parker’s name submitted to her? Was she aware
of Parker’s record? If she was, why did she want such a person to guard
her husband? If she was not familiar with Parker, what prompted her to
approve him without knowing more about him? Did she know him at all? Was
she related to him, or did she think she was related to him? (Her
mother’s family name was Parker.) Did she authorize Parker to leave his
post to watch the play? Was Stanton aware of Parker’s assignment to the
White House? If he was not, should he have been? If he was, why didn’t
he object to it? Considering the secretary’s concern for the president’s
safety, shouldn’t his department have investigated anyone proposed for
assignment to protect the president? Considering the innocent people
arrested after the assassination, why didn’t Stanton order Parker’s
arrest or at least investigate his apparent misconduct? Was it not
possible that Parker was part of Booth’s conspiracy? Didn’t that
possibility deserve investigation? Regarding Parker’s superiors, did
Stanton consider that one of them might have issued orders allowing
Parker to leave his post? Was he aware of Mary Lincoln’s endorsement of
Parker? Was that a factor in his decision not to arrest Parker? Did the
secretary in any way try to influence any pending charges against
Parker? If so, why? Was he trying to protect Mary Lincoln? Did Stanton
know Parker or have any contact with him before April 14? Did any of his
staff know Parker? Did Parker have any communication with Mary Lincoln,
John Wilkes Booth, Stanton, or anyone from the War Department on or
before April 14, 1865? Did he know Booth? Did Booth bribe him to leave
his post? Who dictated Parker’s duties for that night? What specifically
were his instructions? Why did he leave his post? Did it not occur to
Parker that by doing so he was jeopardizing the president’s life?”
As
Winkler added, “Such questions apparently were never asked, and the
participants never commented on them. No one seemed to want to set the
record straight.”
Keep in mind that that lengthy
list of questions only covers one small aspect of the events of that
day. There are literally hundreds of unanswered, and frequently unasked,
questions still surrounding the Lincoln assassination. As one further
example, there is the question of how it was that in at least a
half-dozen isolated pockets of the country, news of Lincoln’s
assassination was reported four to twelve hours before the Lincolns had
arrived at Ford’s Theatre?
Folks in St. Joseph,
Minnesota, which was 40 miles from the nearest railroad and 80 miles
from the nearest telegraph service, learned of Lincoln’s death while he
was still very much alive. So did the good people of Manchester, New
Hampshire. And the people living in Middleton, New York. And in
Newburgh, New York as well. Ace reporters at the Whig Press got the
scoop before the shot was fired.
Shit happens, I
guess. Maybe they had caught wind of the fact that, a couple weeks
before the assassination, Mary Todd Lincoln, who was known to go on
extravagant shopping sprees, had purchased some $25,000 (in today’s
dollars) worth of mourning clothes. It’s always good to be prepared.
Even when your husband isn’t even ill, let alone dying.
No comments:
Post a Comment