BLACK PRESIDENT, CHAPTER 9. Did JFK as President really meet with crime boss Sam Giancana? If so, it may have gone something like this.

In CHAPTER 9, JFK sits down with Public Enemy #1, dealing with help from a mafia crime boss of the Midwest; crazy planning to poison Castro, due to Judith Exner being a mistress to both.

CHAPTER NINE

Jack Kennedy finally got the call through to Judith Campbell, and once again she agreed to be his courier for a letter from Johnny Roselli. Campbell tried not to focus too much on any one mission she performed for her President boyfriend, but she wondered just what that particular letter could contain to warrant the extra intensity in his voice.

“Sweetheart, how fast can you get yourself to Vegas and then deliver Roselli’s letter to Giancana in Chicago? ” Kennedy didn’t use an extra word or syllable for embellishment.

“Right now,” Campbell told him, sensing that any other answer would have failed the test.

“Good. Then I’ll expect to see you and Sam in Chicago. And I love you, you know.”

“I know,” answered Campbell, with the unforced purr of her voice that Kennedy expected to hear. “See you soon.”

As Campbell watched the kettle come to a boil, the venting steam accompanied by a shrill whistle, she thought of how her life was ruled by the President’s screwy schedule. There wasn’t really day or night for them, just isolated hours at various times in various cities. A midnight flight to Vegas was no big deal for a young woman like her, who could be groggy and jet-lagged and still laugh it off (drink or snort it away). She turned off the flame and poured the boiling water over a teabag, then cradled her hands around the cup for half a minute. It felt good to know that the only clothes she’d really need – fancy lingerie – would fit inside her large purse.

The whole trip was a blur. Minutes after landing in Las Vegas and crossing town in a cab, Judith met up with Roselli. He handed her the envelope, lightly patting her shoulder as he led her back into the roar of the casino. She had seen him grope other girl’s bottoms and knew she was getting off easy. Nobody messed with Sam’s girl. She hopped another plane and within a few hours screeched down on Chicago’s O’Hare runway. A quick cab ride got her to Sam Giancana at the Ambassador Hotel, room 305. He wanted the usual hello, so Campbell dropped to her knees and blew him off before she even bothered to kick off her high heels. Yes, she could love two men at the same time. And just like a short-order cook who could poach eggs in a watery skillet at one end of the kitchen while making sandwiches and grilling burgers across the aisle, Judith could shift her amorous focus from one man to another, giving each her full and undivided attention.

Before they ordered room service, Giancana made a call to Kennedy, who indicated he would arrive before nightfall. Kennedy entered the hotel room in the evening, around 8:30PM, shook Giancana’s hand, exchanged pleasantries, then hugged Campbell, whispering into her ear that he couldn’t stay with her that night. It somehow didn’t occur to her that it was in any way improper that she should be witness to the President of the United States shaking hands with The Godfather, Mafia crime boss of the Midwest. It was just business as usual. She had helped the two men communicate in the past year and had heard some very confidential information. For example, Giancana had told her that he had helped swing Cook County’s vote in favor of Kennedy, insuring that Illinois went Democratic. Without that state, Giancana had explained, Kennedy would have lost the election,.

As soon as business commenced, Kennedy asked Campbell to grant them privacy. She knew the drill and quickly headed for the bathroom. There was really no alternative. Threading her way through the crowd of Secret Service personnel stationed in the hallway outside the door was not an option. On the way to the bathroom she grabbed a Time magazine that lay on a small coffee table. Stuck inside, Campbell pulled a towel from the rack, folded it over double and covered the lid of the toilet. Once seated, she slipped off her shoes, leaned back, and opened the magazine to a car ad for the new Ford. Fins were still in, though a mite shorter than the 58 Plymouth variety. A few more pages along she found a picture of President Kennedy, waving to crowds in some mid- western town. She tried to imagine what his life was like away from her. He was always so busy, with so many places to visit, so many people to talk to about serious issues. Inspecting the magazine photo carefully while the two men’s voices droned on beyond the door, Campbell realized that he was probably one of the hardest working actors in America. The public never saw the real, fun- loving man she knew.

In the small living room, Giancana ripped open the envelope from Vegas as Kennedy looked on. And though his last painkiller was holding him up pretty well, the President excused himself to a softer chair, crossing one leg up upon the other after getting seated, to relieve his lower backache. It just didn’t pay to be careless about his old injury. The speedball shot he’d received that day helped mask the pain, but would sometimes over-relax him when he needed most to be alert. And he knew to be extra careful when dealing with Giancana, who missed nothing.

Giancana quickly read the letter. Then, without a word, he handed the contents to Kennedy. Jack clutched the paper, quickly scanning the text. With just a glance he learned that his suspicions had been well-founded. Men in his government, working for the CIA and FBI, had plotted to kill Fidel Castro, without informing him or getting any kind of official sanction from the President’s office. This was well before the Bay of Pigs. Giancana spoke up before Kennedy had read the half-page of intercepted transcript.

“Poison cigars seems like a nice option,” said Giancana, pleasantly, as if he were a CEO picking an anniversary present for his Chairman of the Board. “He smokes several of them every day .”

Kennedy said nothing, but kept reading. The document did mention “neutralizing Castro with a poison cigar.” To Kennedy that seemed just one step removed from an exploding cigar – the classic prank. Was the fate of the free world to hinge on a novelty store gag? Why not just go for it, he wondered, just dust the guy with 100% assurance that the job would be done right.

“Why not just set up a hit, like option five here, and skip the practical jokes?” he said in an authoritative voice. “Three or four men with rifles and scopes, hidden from sight, waiting for Castro to drive along some route he takes every day. Wouldn’t that be the most efficient tactic for removing a head of state?” Kennedy had been briefed by the CIA early in his administration regarding such a direct approach to “terminal removal.”

Giancana relaxed against the cushy back of the chair. He paused before answering until he had stretched his arms up, clutched his fingers together behind his head and angled his elbows back, cracking his spine loudly. Kennedy was lucky to have an old pro at work on this problem, thought Giancana, since he knew just how messy a kill could get. He chose his words carefully.

“Jack...a hit like that...could go horribly wrong. The only way that kind of action works is if all police are paid off and the escape routes are secured beforehand, by an army of paid personnel. Castro has already paid off his police. They’re probably the only people who live well over there. He has a proven track record in brutality. There’s no one in Cuba stupid enough to risk retribution. That’s why the cigar was considered as an option. Also, the fuse is longer. A cigar could be dropped into his regular box, with the confidence that at some point up the road – weeks or months.”

Giancana stopped speaking for a moment then encapsulated his thought. “It’s cleaner, and you’re better protected.”

Both men paused momentarily to absorb the subject of their discussion. Assassination. Assassination of a foreign leader. And if even one man on the hit squad could be traced back to the U.S. intelligence community through Giancana’s men, it could cost Kennedy everything. His entire cabinet and political party could disintegrate. No more two-party system.

And yet, it hadn’t been his call. The fact that both JFK and his brother Bobby were totally opposed to assassination as a method of changing foreign policy didn’t seem to bother either the leadership of the CIA, FBI, or their sub-contractors like Giancana. Talk of killing people had made Kennedy feel dirty. What was happening to his life?

Campbell had sat in the bathroom long enough to start getting uncomfortable. She got up, looked out the frosted window, then sat back down and started thinking about her mother, Sally, back in Beverly Hills. They were supposed to get together for a visit before the end of May. Campbell wondered what in the world she could possibly buy her mother for a birthday present. Another gift for someone who had everything. Maybe something for the bathroom, a new toilet paper holder, or shower curtain. Fancy imported toothbrush, or perfumed soap in the shape of a unicorn. Maybe she had already given the unicorn soap. She needed to keep better lists of presents to her mother so she didn’t repeat herself. There was only so much schlock in the world, and her mother had bought most of it already. Her eyes traveled around the tight space for additional gift ideas, but instead she noticed where the old hotel bathroom needed some repair. The chrome ring around the shower faucet, high on the wall above the tub, had come loose from its adhesive and was dangling on the fixture. Some of the molding was missing from under the tub, and some paint was peeling under the sink near where the cold water pipe disappeared into the wall. Halfway through listing all the faults of the room, at the same time trying to give a proper name to the color of the walls (a pale yellow = sienna?), she heard the faintest shuttling outside the door, and then a light tap. Campbell stood up, stretched, glanced in the mirror to make sure her face was still on, then opened the door, ending her forty-five minutes of isolation.

Before she left the hotel suite, Campbell agreed to travel back to Washington the next morning, fly to Florida to deliver another letter to Giancana, and return to the White House with another. Both men kissed her before they exited the room, leaving her alone to order room service dinner for one. The next day, when she returned to Washington, she called 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and was immediately put through to President Kennedy. After quick pleasantries he said he wanted the Florida envelope at the earliest possible moment. Hanging up, she locked her apartment, wondering which historical room would be their meeting place. Arriving at the White House just after 1PM, she was quickly escorted through the hallways to the second floor family quarters by a young secret service agent with regulation blue suit and extremely short-clipped hair.

“No interruptions, from anyone,” were the only words President Kennedy spoke to the agent before he closed the door to the dining room into which she had just entered. To be sure, Kennedy walked over and threw the inside lock. Finally alone and secure, Kennedy embraced Campbell, kissing her just as she was pulling the letter from her purse. She enjoyed the fact that he was temporarily hungrier for her than the urgent business in hand. He let her finally force the letter into his coat pocket before pulling his lips away and breaking into a wide grin. His charming and mischievous face gave promise of some fun ahead. It never occurred to her to ask about Jackie or the kids. They were never anywhere in sight.

After eating turkey sandwiches and potato salad served by a Black woman named “Birdie,” Kennedy and Campbell proceeded through a room with twin beds, arriving in a small back bedroom filled with a large queen-size. Within moments, Campbell watched as the President of the United States dropped his pants.

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<https://www.thedailybeast.com/judith-campbell-the-mistress-who-carried-messages-between-jfk-and-the-mob-did-it-for-love>

<https://www.amazon.com/JFK-Sam-Connection-Giancana-Assassinations/dp/1581824874>

(Chapter 10 next))