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ORDERS TO KILL -- THE TRUTH BEHIND THE MURDER OF MARTIN LUTHER KING

Chapter 9:  The Visit:  October 17, 1978

By MID-OCTOBER 1978 I was ready to meet Ray at the Brushy Mountain prison in Tennessee. Mark Lane agreed to arrange  for as long a session as we wished, which we could record in  any way we chose. Our group was to include Ralph Abernathy,  psychiatrist Howard Berens of Boston, who specialized in interpreting body lang1:1age, and two photographers.

I had learned as much as possible about our subject's life.  James Earl Ray was born on March 10, 1928, in Alton, Illinois.  He and his family, which included his two brothers, Jerry and  John, moved some six years later to Ewing, Missouri, where his  father gave the family the name of "Rayns" to avoid an association with some of James's uncle's petty criminal activities. Thus  Ray's first alias was provided to him by his own father when he  was six.

Ray finished elementary school (eighth grade) and promptly  dropped out. He moved back to Alton, and at age sixteen he worked at the International Shoe Tannery in East Hartford,  Illinois. He enlisted in the army in January 1946. Eventually, he was stationed in West Germany.

In December 1948, he received a general discharge, which  cited his "inaptness and lack of adaptability to military service."  He returned to Alton and soon began drifting from job to job. 

In September 1949, he left Chicago for California, and in October he was arrested for a minor burglary, a charge he has  always denied. He was sentenced to ninety days in prison. After  returning to Illinois in 1950, he worked in supermarkets and  factories and attempted to earn his high school diploma by going to night school. In May 1952, he robbed a cab driver of  eleven dollars. He was sent to the state penitentiary at Joliet and later transferred to the state prison farm in Pontiac, where  he remained until he was released on March 12, 1954.

Though he stayed out of trouble for a while, at a bar he met Walter Rife, who persuaded him to help sell U.S. postal money  orders Rife had stolen. They were caught, and on July 1, 1955,  Ray was sentenced to forty-five months at the federal penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas. It is interesting to note that Rife, who apparently turned informer, received a lesser sentence  even though he had actually stolen the money orders. In a subsequent interview (March 12, 1979) Ray would reflect philosophically on the issue of informing, saying that he didn't want  to end up like Joe Valachi, the mob informant. He felt that if  someone else wanted to inform that was their business, but he  would neither inform nor assist in the prosecution of anyone.  Over the years, I have become impressed with the strength of  this commitment. For Ray, this is more than a way to stay alive in prison. He believes it is wrong and will not relent. In this  respect Ray is an old-fashioned con, respected wherever he has  done time.

He was paroled from Leavenworth in early 1959, only to be  tried and convicted for a grocery store robbery in St. Louis in  December 1959. In March of 1960 he began serving a twenty-year sentence at the Missouri State Penitentiary.

He was always on the lookout for ways to escape. After two  unsuccessful attempts he succeeded on April 23, 1967, when  he began the odyssey that was to end over a year later with his  extradition from the United Kingdom. After being convicted  and eventually incarcerated at Brushy Mountain, Ray again  tried to escape. His second attempt there was successful. On  June 10, 1977 he went over the wall but was caught and returned in just over two days. At that time it had become clear  that the HSCA (the future of which had been in doubt) was going to continue. I was uneasy when I learned that a large  number of FBI agents appeared extraordinarily quickly on  the scene.

On October 16, the day before our meeting was to take  place, the members of our small group gathered at a hotel on  the outskirts of Knoxville. Late that evening we were joined by  Mark Lane and one of his assistants, Barbara Rabbito. For several hours that evening Ralph and I went over questions I had  drafted, preparing for the next day's interview.

The next morning, we were joined by Ray's wife, Anna. She  had been an NBC courtroom artist sketching scenes at the trial  following Ray's escape attempt in 1976, apparently was smitten with him, and began to visit him regularly. They eventually  were married by Martin's old friend, Jim Lawson, who shared Mark Lane's belief that Ray was not the killer. (In March 1993, James and Anna divorced acrimoniously.)

Around 10:00 that morning we set out for Petros, the remote home of Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary. Mark Lane, Ralph Abernathy, Dr. Howard Berens and I visited with James in a  small interview room outside the maximum security area. From  what I had read about him I was' prepared to meet a racist, hardened criminal whose tendency for violence lay not far  below the surface. I was very surprised. He seemed serious and  shy, almost diffident, and shook hands weakly. He was trim but  exceedingly pale, for he had been doing much of his time in  solitary "for his own safety" as a result of an escape attempt.  By that time he had been in prison for eight years and seven  months. He sat down at the head of a small table, and after  Dr. Berens and I arranged the tape recorders, Abernathy began  the session with a prayer.

Ralph's prayer did little to ease the tension that had been  building from the moment we passed through the prison gate.  As a result of my research I leaned toward the belief that Ray  had not killed Dr. King; I hoped that he would be able to  convince us of his innocence. I suppose that this hope stemmed, at least in part, from an unwillingness to accept that  such a singular life and work as Dr. King's could be snuffed  out so unceremoniously by a "lone nut" who was by all appearances a nonentity. I knew, however, that if Ray's answers didn't  measure up and we came to believe he was guilty, then Ralph  would have to declare as much in his statement to the media.  To do or say anything else would be like spitting on Martin's  grave.

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