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before the 1948 election. When Eisenhower called him in to interview for the appointment as Chief Justice there must have been a half dozen advisors in the room at the time. Once he became Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, a Constitutional post that established him as the leader of a co-equal branch of the Federal Government, he never met alone with Ike or Jack Kennedy. If asked, he supposed he would probably have offered the opinion that such a meeting might be improper, regardless of who occupied either office. And yet, following the murder of President Kennedy, here he was, alone with Lyndon Johnson in the private office of the President. The Chief Justice felt uncomfortable. He recorded his discomfort in his journal.
    â€œMr. Chief Justice, I’m afraid the American people are worried and confused,” Johnson went on. “They’re worried that their government, their country, is in jeopardy, facing great danger. They speculate about an enemy. Who is their enemy? Where are they? What are they gonna do next? Who else is gonna get killed? And who’s doing this killing? You know what I mean?”
    â€œWell, yes. I think I do, Mr. President.”
    â€œGood. I’m glad to hear that. You and I need to keep our heads about us. We need to clear away the cobwebs of confusion and put to rest the nation’s worry. That’s my obligation now. That’s our obligation. The trust of the people is the foundation on which this government rests. It’s the bedrock of our republic. It’s my responsibility—my sworn duty—to keep that trust from being shaken.” Johnson was quiet a moment. He shook his head slightly from side to side, showing his disgust and frustration. “This Oswald problem is getting out of hand,” he said. “How the goddamn hell do they let somebody shoot him? Tell me that!” The Chief Justice knew better than to reply.
    Johnson rose from his desk, raised his fist in anger and walked over to the window looking out on the White House lawn. Special lights, put in place that afternoon by the Secret Service, covered much of the wide-open grassy area in bright light. In the late autumn afternoon, the garden just outside the Oval Office was already dark with only a few ground lights to show the walkways among the flowers and plants, the ones Mrs. Kennedy had arranged so beautifully.
    â€œOswald’s dead. Shot and killed in front of our eyes for Christ’s sake! The man who killed the President is dead. And now we got speculation running rampant. Who’d he work for?” Johnson once more turned around, paced from one side of the office to the other and back, slapping his thighs as he walked, then sat down—at the President’s desk—in the President’s chair. He looked like he’d been there forever. “I’ve got reports people are asking questions about his communist ties. Talking about the Cubans—those damn Cubans,” Johnson mumbled, looking down at the floor as if there might be something important there. Then he looked straight at Warren and spoke again in a loud, strong voice. “The Russians too, even Chinese. You know Oswald was stationed in Japan?”
    â€œNo sir, I didn’t. I didn’t know that. Did Oswald have any contact with the Chinese?”
    â€œHe could have, could have. Who knows? Chinese, Japanese. He could have. That’s not the point. The point is—people are asking questions. You understand? People are asking questions. Even you. You just asked, didn’t you? Newspapers are gonna start writing things, all sorts of things. You know that. With Oswald dead we’re never gonna get the truth about why he shot the President. Instead we’ll get speculation. We’ll get dangerous, unhealthy speculation. Crazy stuff. The kind that plays right into the hands of our real enemies. And we,” he said peering straight into Warren’s eyes, “have to prevent