Hellhound On His Trail Part 20

For a time, during the mid-1970s, Ray's interest turned from escaping to legal stratagems designed to win a new trial. Constantly reading law books, he burned through another string of lawyers, but his legal efforts foundered. In December 1976, his attempt to withdraw his guilty plea was rejected by the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit--as well as by the U.S. Supreme Court. Two months later, in February 1977, his case received another blow. The Justice Department, which had been leading an inquiry into the King a.s.sa.s.sination, concluded in its final report that the FBI's investigation was "thoroughly, honestly and successfully conducted ... The sum of all the evidence of Ray's guilt points to him exclusively."

On the eve of his escape, Ray's only hope was the House Select Committee on a.s.sa.s.sinations, which the U.S. House of Representatives had recently impaneled to investigate the JFK and MLK murders. In the late winter, the House's chief counsel, Richard Sprague, had come to Brushy Mountain and led several long cell-block interviews with Ray. The talks got off to a shaky start, but in recent weeks the prisoner finally seemed to be opening up. Ray was even beginning to come clean, hinting that "Raoul" might be fict.i.tious after all. Upon his final interview with Ray, Sprague was moved to declare with complete confidence: "Raoul does not and did not exist."746 While these interviews were being conducted, a curious development was taking place just outside Brushy Mountain's walls. Jerry Ray had come to the Petros area to live live for several months that spring and was seen casing the wooded terrain outside the prison. Then he visited Jimmy one week before the escape--much as their brother John had visited Ray just before his breakout from Missouri's Jeff City prison ten years earlier. (John could not lend his help this time around; he was in prison, serving an eighteen-year federal sentence for robbing a bank.) for several months that spring and was seen casing the wooded terrain outside the prison. Then he visited Jimmy one week before the escape--much as their brother John had visited Ray just before his breakout from Missouri's Jeff City prison ten years earlier. (John could not lend his help this time around; he was in prison, serving an eighteen-year federal sentence for robbing a bank.) The timing of Ray's breakout was beginning to make sense. His legal prospects had dimmed. He'd grown weary of maneuvering. He figured he had nothing left to lose. His brother had scoped out the country around the prison and had probably given him a recon report. So his thoughts returned, fully and pa.s.sionately, to escape.

"You always have it747 in the back of your mind," he told an interviewer from in the back of your mind," he told an interviewer from Playboy Playboy only days before he went over the wall. "When you come to the penitentiary, you check out various escape routes. You file them away, and, if the opportunity arises, well, you can go ahead. I suspect that everyone in here has it in the back of his mind. The only thing is whether they have the fort.i.tude to go through with it." only days before he went over the wall. "When you come to the penitentiary, you check out various escape routes. You file them away, and, if the opportunity arises, well, you can go ahead. I suspect that everyone in here has it in the back of his mind. The only thing is whether they have the fort.i.tude to go through with it."

BY SAt.u.r.dAY AFTERNOON, two of the runaways had been captured--but James Earl Ray was still out there. Authorities stepped up the manhunt. Governor Ray Blanton called out the National Guard, and soon the skies shuddered with helicopters that were equipped with infrared heat-sensing scopes much like the ones that American servicemen had used to hunt Vietcong in the jungles of Southeast Asia.

Predictably, a hue and cry rose up in the national media. Reporters were calling it "the escape of the century." The ease with which Ray had broken out from a maximum-security prison, some said, was further proof of the ma.s.sive conspiracy that was behind the death of Martin Luther King. The people who had killed King now wanted Ray to disappear (or die) before he could testify in Washington in front of the House Select Committee on a.s.sa.s.sinations. Ray's escape wasn't an escape at all, some said; it was an abduction.

Ralph Abernathy, who had stepped down from the SCLC, said he was "convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt"748 that "authorities in very high places have planned the escape. I would say Ray is going to be destroyed." Abernathy's worries were echoed by Representative Louis Stokes, the Ohio Democrat who was serving as chairman of the House Select Committee on a.s.sa.s.sinations. Stokes speculated that the escape was "engineered to see that Ray that "authorities in very high places have planned the escape. I would say Ray is going to be destroyed." Abernathy's worries were echoed by Representative Louis Stokes, the Ohio Democrat who was serving as chairman of the House Select Committee on a.s.sa.s.sinations. Stokes speculated that the escape was "engineered to see that Ray749 is permanently lost and never heard from again. There are people out there who would not want him to talk." is permanently lost and never heard from again. There are people out there who would not want him to talk."

An even more horrifying conspiracy theory rose up from the depths of the newspapers. As it happened, Martin Luther King's father, Daddy King, was only forty miles away from Brushy Mountain on that particular weekend. He was scheduled to preach in a Baptist church in Knoxville on Sunday. People began to speculate that this was not a coincidence at all, that the escape was somehow tied to King's appearance in Knoxville: people literally feared that King's life was in danger.

It wasn't as crazy as it sounded, given the tragedies that had befallen Daddy King since his son's a.s.sa.s.sination. In 1969, his other son, A. D. King, was found dead at the age of thirty-eight, floating in his swimming pool in Atlanta. Then, in 1974, the matriarch of the family, Daddy King's beloved wife, Alberta, was gunned down by a deranged black man while she was playing the organ during a service at Ebenezer Baptist Church.

How much pain could one man bear? How much bad fortune could be directed at a single family? On Sat.u.r.day, reporters reached Daddy King in Knoxville and asked him about the manhunt for his son's a.s.sa.s.sin that was going on in the mountains just to the west. "I hope they don't kill him,"750 King said. "Let's hope he doesn't get killed. You're looking at the face of a black man who hates n.o.body." But King wasn't taking any chances, either, especially with a posse of known murderers on the loose. He had a bodyguard with him at all times, he said, and he'd "stopped checking into hotels in my own name a long time ago. I go nowhere without someone traveling with me, without security at both ends. I've gotten used to it." King said. "Let's hope he doesn't get killed. You're looking at the face of a black man who hates n.o.body." But King wasn't taking any chances, either, especially with a posse of known murderers on the loose. He had a bodyguard with him at all times, he said, and he'd "stopped checking into hotels in my own name a long time ago. I go nowhere without someone traveling with me, without security at both ends. I've gotten used to it."

The hysteria that Ray's escape had generated was understandable, as were the public suspicions that something much larger was afoot. Nonetheless, prison officials insisted that--so far, at least--they'd found absolutely no evidence that anyone had aided the runaways, and no evidence of a wider conspiracy either inside or outside the prison walls. Warden Stonney Lane, somewhat irritable from having to return prematurely from his vacation to deal with the crisis, promised a full investigation. For now, all he could report was that the phone lines had gone out because the prison had received too many calls all at once from people down in Petros who'd heard the steam whistle shrieking. The power lines had temporarily fizzled as a result of what he rather opaquely called a "panic b.u.t.ton overload on the penitentiary circuits."

Mostly, though, Lane was focused on finding Ray and the others. He vowed that the search would venture into "every hollow and back road where a man could hide."

Governor Ray Blanton, meanwhile, tried to rea.s.sure the nation that, whatever else happened, his National Guardsmen and corrections department officers would not shoot James Earl Ray. They were, he said, "under orders to use all possible restraint." He conceded that the breakout might have been avoided, that there was possibly "a failure and a laxity" on the part of the Brushy Mountain guards. But, he added, this James Earl Ray character was something else, a fish too big and slippery for any state pen to keep.

"It's not a matter of we can't handle him," the governor said. "It's a matter of we can't contain contain him. The breakout was concocted, designed, and planned in such a manner that he could be in Guatemala now." him. The breakout was concocted, designed, and planned in such a manner that he could be in Guatemala now."

BY SUNDAY MORNING, officials were fairly boiling with frustration. Although three of the prisoners had been caught, Ray remained at large. The full might of the state and the nation could not bring the prime fugitive to bay--not the planes and helicopters with their heat-sensing machines, not the National Guardsmen with their night-vision goggles, not the FBI with its topo maps and roving surveillance cameras. So the search would have to come down to the man hunter's oldest technology, the surest technology of all. It would have to come down to the dogs.

Sammy Joe Chapman751 was the captain of the bloodhound team at Brushy Mountain. He was a big, pale guy with a miner's lamp blazing from his forehead and an impressive Civil War mustache that crimped and tweezed when he smiled. People around the prison called him a "sniffer" and a "dog boy." He'd spent his life tracking c.o.o.ns and hunting for ginseng root in the c.u.mberland woods, learning what he called "the tricks of the mountains." He knew all the landmarks around the New River valley--Flag Pole, Chimney Top, Twin Forks, Frozen Head. He knew where the burned-out cabins were, and the abandoned mine shafts, and the naked faces of the mountains where the strip miners had done their crude sc.r.a.pings. was the captain of the bloodhound team at Brushy Mountain. He was a big, pale guy with a miner's lamp blazing from his forehead and an impressive Civil War mustache that crimped and tweezed when he smiled. People around the prison called him a "sniffer" and a "dog boy." He'd spent his life tracking c.o.o.ns and hunting for ginseng root in the c.u.mberland woods, learning what he called "the tricks of the mountains." He knew all the landmarks around the New River valley--Flag Pole, Chimney Top, Twin Forks, Frozen Head. He knew where the burned-out cabins were, and the abandoned mine shafts, and the naked faces of the mountains where the strip miners had done their crude sc.r.a.pings.

Chapman had grown impatient with the feds and all their instruments and all their worrying. He knew that his bloodhounds would find Ray in due course. All they needed was a good drenching rainstorm. That was the funny thing about bloodhounds: their extraordinary snouts didn't work well in dry weather. When the forest was in want of moisture, all the wild odors mingled into olfactory confusion, and the dogs couldn't pick out a man's clear scent.

Then, on Sunday afternoon, the weather turned. For hours and hours it rained strong and steady, flushing out the forest, driving the stale airborne smells to the ground. Chapman looked at the gray skies and smiled.

Around nightfall he put a harness to his two best hounds, a pair of fourteen-month-old b.i.t.c.hes named Sandy and Little Red. He'd personally trained them, teaching them to hunt in perfect silence--none of the usual yelping and singing normally a.s.sociated with hounds. Late that night, along the New River about eight miles north of the prison, the dogs picked up something strong. The wet ground quickened their senses, just as Chapman knew it would. Tugged by Sandy and Little Red, Chapman followed the river toward the c.u.mberland strip mine. After a few miles, they crossed over to the other side, then started up the steep flanks of Usher Top Mountain. An hour into the chase, the hounds remained keen.

Now Chapman radioed back to the prison: "We've got a hot trail!" He crossed a set of railroad tracks and a logging road and a clearing strewn with coal. In his headlamp, Chapman could see a rusty conveyor belt and other industrial machinery of the West Coal Company. It was nearly midnight, but the dogs kept leading him uphill, toward Usher Top. For two hours, he strained and struggled up the face of the ridge, his dogs never letting up. At one point he halted them and heard thrashing in the blackberry bushes, not more than fifty yards up the mountain.

In another ten minutes, Chapman and the dogs had nearly reached the mountain's summit. Halting his dogs again, he heard silence--nothing but the crickets and a slight breeze whispering through the oaks and the rush of the river down in the moonlit valley, hundreds of feet below. It was ten minutes past two on Monday morning. Sandy and Little Red yanked Chapman a few feet farther. They snuffled and sniffed in the wet leaves. Their bodies went rigid, but still they didn't bark or bay--they only wagged their tails.

Chapman shined his lamp at a bulge in the forest floor. From his shoulder holster, he produced a Smith & Wesson .38 Chiefs Special. "Don't move or I'll shoot!"

Then, like a ghoul, a pale white man rose lurchingly from the leaves. He was wet and haggard and smeared in mud. His scratched arms were crusted with poison ivy. He wore a navy blue sweatshirt and dungarees and black track shoes. James Earl Ray's fifty-four hours of freedom had come to an end.

Chapman slapped some cuffs over the fugitive's wrists and frisked him. Ray had a map of East Tennessee and $290--a stash he'd apparently saved up from his $35-per-month job in the prison laundry. Aside from the map, he had nothing on his person that appeared to have come from outside the prison, nothing that indicated he'd had any help.

"Ray, how do you feel?"

"Good," he mumbled, averting his eyes in the lamp glare.

"Had anything to eat?"

"Naw," Ray said. "Only a little wheat germ, is all."

Chapman got on the radio to share the good news--and in the process learned that other bloodhounds had found another fugitive down on the New River several hours earlier (the sixth and final runaway wouldn't be caught until Tuesday). Chapman congratulated Sandy and Little Red, tugging at their s...o...b..ry dewlaps. But he had to hand it to Ray, too. "For a 49-year-old man752 who didn't know the mountains," he said later, "Ray really didn't do bad." who didn't know the mountains," he said later, "Ray really didn't do bad."

Inmate #65477 headed down the mountain, back to a prison term that would last, unbroken by any more escapes, until his death in 1998 from hepat.i.tis C (probably contracted through a tainted blood transfusion he would receive after several black inmates repeatedly stabbed him). Now, tromping in manacles through the soggy c.u.mberland woods, Ray didn't say a word. He only thought about his mistakes and what he'd do differently next time, if he ever got another chance.

"It's disappointing being caught,"753 he told an interviewer back at the prison. "I wasn't happy being run down. I'd rather be ... he told an interviewer back at the prison. "I wasn't happy being run down. I'd rather be ... out there out there. But it's not the end of the world. There's tomorrow."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

In order to trace the final days of Martin Luther King, and to follow in James Earl Ray's fugitive footsteps, I had to go on a round-the-world odyssey, one that required many road trips and many flights over many years--and one that now taxes my memory of all the good folks I need to thank.

But let me try: In Puerto Vallarta, Lori Delgado was most generous in guiding me to Ray's haunts. In the early going, the prizewinning King scholar David Garrow proved extremely helpful during a visit to Cambridge University. Pedro and Isabel Branco were nice enough to show me Lisbon and introduce me to the melancholy joys of fado--Portugal's answer to the Delta blues. In Austin, Doug and Anne Brinkley nursed me back to health after a hard fluish stint at the LBJ Presidential Library. My researches in London were a success thanks in no small part to Ben and Sarah Fortna, to Robert McCrum, and to Sarah Lyall of the New York Times New York Times. In Toronto, I must thank Mike Fuhr and the CBC's John Nicol for their expert help. In North Carolina, a big thanks to Sir Newton Stevens for his hospitality during my research junket to the UNC archives. In Birmingham, Arthur Hanes Jr., one of Ray's first lawyers, graciously shared his view of the case over a sumptuous pile of Jim 'n Nick's BBQ. In Boston, I thank Jon Haber and Carolyn Goldstein for their hospitality, as well as Tony Decaneas at the Panopticon Gallery and the archivist Alex Rankin at BU's Gotlieb Center.

I'm enormously grateful to the Hoover Inst.i.tution's Edwards Media Fellows Program at Stanford University, which provided a generous research grant. Also at Stanford, a hearty thanks to Clayborne Carson and Clarence Jones at the King Papers Project. I also thank the MacDowell Colony for recharging my fizzled batteries in the mountains of New Hampshire, and the Bunburys in Ireland.

Several researchers proved indispensable in helping me track down key sources and exhume old newspaper and magazine accounts. I must especially thank Scott Reid in Atlanta, Jean Hannah Edelstein in London, Ciara Neill in Memphis, and Shay Brown in Santa Fe.

I logged a lot of quality time in my old hometown of Memphis, and my list of people to thank there is long and wide-ranging. First, my appreciation to Beverly Robertson and the staff of the National Civil Rights Museum, which organized a fascinating symposium in April 2008 to commemorate the fortieth anniversary of the MLK a.s.sa.s.sination. I thank also John Campbell with the Shelby County District Attorney's Office, the retired pathologist Jerry Francisco, and the attorneys Mike Cody and Charlie Newman at Burch, Porter & Johnson.

Others who generously gave their time include Martha Huie, Louis Donelson, Charles Crump, John T. Fisher, and Marc Perrusquia. A special thanks to the whole crew at Memphis Memphis magazine, especially Ken Neill, Mary Helen Randall, and Michael Finger. Hope Brooks, at Cargill Cotton, helped me understand the world of "white gold," as did the fine folks at the Cotton Museum downtown. magazine, especially Ken Neill, Mary Helen Randall, and Michael Finger. Hope Brooks, at Cargill Cotton, helped me understand the world of "white gold," as did the fine folks at the Cotton Museum downtown.

I doff my hat to Edwin Frank, curator of the amazing Mississippi Valley Collection at the University of Memphis, and to Wayne Dowdy, over at the Memphis Room. I sincerely appreciate the forbearing souls at Quetzal on Union, my well-caffeinated research bunker during all my Memphis stays. Thanks also to Robin and Ann Smithwick, Billy Withers, John Harris, Jim McCarter, and everyone at the Drake and Zeke Drake and Zeke show. My grat.i.tude to John Ruskey--a.k.a. River Jesus--for showing me the show. My grat.i.tude to John Ruskey--a.k.a. River Jesus--for showing me the real real Mississippi during a fabulous spring canoe trip, and to Mary Turner, at Mississippi during a fabulous spring canoe trip, and to Mary Turner, at Outside Outside, for making it possible.

Profound thanks (!) to my family in Memphis for all their love and support--Dot and Walker Wilkerson, Link Sides, Mona Smith, and Lynn and Jack Gayden. Thanks also to Mike Deaderick, my high-school history teacher: you inspired me more than you'll ever know.

I inflicted early versions of my ma.n.u.script on a number of friends who generously lent their sharp eyes and sound judgment. Special thanks to Kevin Fedarko, Laura Hohnhold, Tom Carroll, Ken Neill, James Conaway, and Ken DeCell. Thanks also to Mark Bowden for his early encouragement, to Ron Bernstein at ICM in Los Angeles, and to Jay Stowe and Hal Espen for their candid insights. To ReBecca and everyone at the Tart's Treats, my home away from home: you saved my hide.

I enjoyed a fruitful collaboration with the folks at Insignia Films in New York as they put together their provocative doc.u.mentary Roads to Memphis Roads to Memphis for the PBS series for the PBS series American Experience American Experience. I thank everyone on the Insignia crew, especially Steve Ives, Amanda Pollak, Lindsey Megrue, and Dan Amigone. Likewise, Susan Bellows and Mark Samels at Boston's WGBH were a delight to work with.

In a category all by himself is the estimable Vince Hughes, whose first-cla.s.s digital archive on the King a.s.sa.s.sination is perhaps the planet's greatest compendium on the subject. As both a colleague and a friend--and as a former police officer who was on duty that fateful April night--Vince has consistently been my ace in the hole. I can't thank him enough. Likewise, my friend Pallas Pidgeon, a fellow traveler in the mysteries of Memphis, helped me keep this project on track.

I'm blessed to have the finest editor, Bill Thomas, and the finest agent, Sloan Harris, in the business. Fancy praise would do no justice: they're simply the best. At Doubleday, I thank Melissa Ann Danaczko, who has stayed unwaveringly on the case, as well as the wizardly Todd Doughty. Thanks also to Kristyn Keene at ICM, always a source of good cheer.

And finally, a ma.s.sive, blubbery thanks to Anne and the boys, who time and time again rescued me from the shadows of this book: I love you with all my heart and soul.

A NOTE ON SOURCES.

The literature of the King murder, much like that of the Kennedy a.s.sa.s.sinations, is vast and dizzying, characterized by tendentious works that are often filled with bizarre a.s.sertions, anonymous sources, and grainy photographs purporting to prove that every organization this side of the Boy Scouts of America was involved in King's death. However, there are many excellent works on the King a.s.sa.s.sination, and three of them proved especially valuable in my research. The late William Bradford Huie, the first journalist to investigate Ray's claims, did an enormous amount of legwork and imaginative sleuthing; I relied not only on Huie's book He Slew the Dreamer He Slew the Dreamer (1970) but also on his personal papers archived at Ohio State--as well as doc.u.ments provided by his widow, Martha Huie. The late George McMillan, author of (1970) but also on his personal papers archived at Ohio State--as well as doc.u.ments provided by his widow, Martha Huie. The late George McMillan, author of The Making of an a.s.sa.s.sin The Making of an a.s.sa.s.sin (1976), was the only journalist who spent serious time digging into Ray's early biography, family, and psychological profile. I made considerable use of McMillan's mountainous Ray archives housed at the University of North Carolina. Finally, when it comes to isolating and then ferociously dismantling conspiracy theories arising from the case, no one has come close to the formidable Gerald Posner and his first-rate (1976), was the only journalist who spent serious time digging into Ray's early biography, family, and psychological profile. I made considerable use of McMillan's mountainous Ray archives housed at the University of North Carolina. Finally, when it comes to isolating and then ferociously dismantling conspiracy theories arising from the case, no one has come close to the formidable Gerald Posner and his first-rate Killing the Dream Killing the Dream (1998). (1998).

My rendering of the ever-potent (and ever-bizarre) figure of J. Edgar Hoover was particularly enriched by three fine biographies: Curt Gentry's highly readable J. Edgar Hoover: The Man and the Secrets; J. Edgar Hoover: The Man and the Secrets; Richard Gid Powers's exhaustively researched Richard Gid Powers's exhaustively researched Secrecy and Power: The Life of J. Edgar Hoover Secrecy and Power: The Life of J. Edgar Hoover; and Burton Hersh's provocative dual biography, Bobby and J. Edgar: The Historic Face-Off Between the Kennedys and J. Edgar Hoover That Transformed America Bobby and J. Edgar: The Historic Face-Off Between the Kennedys and J. Edgar Hoover That Transformed America. In helping me understand Hoover's intense antipathy toward King, I am greatly indebted to the Johnson administration's attorney general Ramsey Clark, who sat for an interview, as well as to David Garrow for his groundbreaking work The FBI and Martin Luther King Jr.: From "Solo" to Memphis The FBI and Martin Luther King Jr.: From "Solo" to Memphis. Also of great utility was the revealing compendium Martin Luther King Jr.: The FBI File Martin Luther King Jr.: The FBI File, painstakingly a.s.sembled by Michael Friedly and David Gallen.

My account of the international manhunt for James Earl Ray is drawn from multiple sources--including personal interviews, memoirs, and official doc.u.ments. Chief among these are the FBI's MURKIN files, including a wealth of largely unpublished FD-302 reports a.s.sembled by FBI agents in field offices across the nation. I also relied heavily on the thirteen-volume King a.s.sa.s.sination Appendix Reports Appendix Reports compiled by the House Select Committee on a.s.sa.s.sinations. Three books, by three official partic.i.p.ants in various aspects of the manhunt, were extremely useful to my research: Cartha DeLoach's revealing memoir, compiled by the House Select Committee on a.s.sa.s.sinations. Three books, by three official partic.i.p.ants in various aspects of the manhunt, were extremely useful to my research: Cartha DeLoach's revealing memoir, Hoover's FBI; Hoover's FBI; the Justice Department official Roger Wilkins's searching autobiography, the Justice Department official Roger Wilkins's searching autobiography, A Man's Life; A Man's Life; and Ramsey Clark's and Ramsey Clark's Crime in America Crime in America.

Anyone interested in knowing more about the George Wallace movement has three excellent biographies to choose from--authoritative works on which I relied in my several pa.s.sages concerning the 1968 Wallace campaign. Foremost among these is Dan Carter's absorbing work, The Politics of Rage The Politics of Rage. Also of great interest are Stephan Lesher's George Wallace: American Populist George Wallace: American Populist and Marshall Frady's engagingly well-written and Marshall Frady's engagingly well-written Wallace: The Cla.s.sic Portrait of Alabama Governor George Wallace Wallace: The Cla.s.sic Portrait of Alabama Governor George Wallace.

In describing the tragic swirl of events in Memphis that led up to the King a.s.sa.s.sination, I found two books especially helpful. Joan Turner Beifuss's engrossing and highly readable At the River I Stand At the River I Stand was the first work to make use of a treasure trove of oral histories taken by the Memphis Search for Meaning Committee. Michael Honey's definitive was the first work to make use of a treasure trove of oral histories taken by the Memphis Search for Meaning Committee. Michael Honey's definitive Going Going Down Jericho Road Down Jericho Road elucidates the sanitation strike and shows how events in Memphis fit into larger movements of U.S. labor history. The best work on the riots that consumed the nation after King's a.s.sa.s.sination is undoubtedly elucidates the sanitation strike and shows how events in Memphis fit into larger movements of U.S. labor history. The best work on the riots that consumed the nation after King's a.s.sa.s.sination is undoubtedly A Nation on Fire A Nation on Fire by Clay Risen. by Clay Risen.

I drew from a wealth of memoirs written by the King family and the SCLC inner circle. Among the most helpful were works by King's widow (Coretta Scott King, My Life with Martin Luther King Jr.); My Life with Martin Luther King Jr.); by his father (Martin Luther King Sr., by his father (Martin Luther King Sr., Daddy King); Daddy King); by his son (Dexter Scott King, by his son (Dexter Scott King, Growing Up King); Growing Up King); by his second-in-command (Ralph Abernathy, by his second-in-command (Ralph Abernathy, And the Walls Came Tumbling Down); And the Walls Came Tumbling Down); by his legal adviser (Clarence Jones, by his legal adviser (Clarence Jones, What Would Martin Say?); What Would Martin Say?); and by his most loyal lieutenant (Andrew Young, and by his most loyal lieutenant (Andrew Young, An Easy Burden) An Easy Burden). I must also convey my admiration for the two preeminent, broad-canvas works on King and the movement--David Garrow's Pulitzer Prize-winning Bearing the Cross Bearing the Cross and Taylor Branch's remarkable three-volume achievement, and Taylor Branch's remarkable three-volume achievement, America in the King Years America in the King Years.

My account of James Earl Ray's travels is drawn princ.i.p.ally from his own words found in a rich and sometimes bewildering range of doc.u.ments. These include Ray's "20,000 Words" (a handwritten account of his movements while on the lam); Ray's testimony before the House Select Committee on a.s.sa.s.sinations, including eight official interviews conducted while he was incarcerated at Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary; lengthy interviews Ray gave to such media outlets as Playboy Playboy, CBS News, and the Nashville Tennessean; Tennessean; handwritten letters he sent to his brothers while serving at Brushy Mountain; and his own two books, handwritten letters he sent to his brothers while serving at Brushy Mountain; and his own two books, Tennessee Waltz Tennessee Waltz and and Who Killed Martin Luther King? Who Killed Martin Luther King? Ray's ever-changing accounts over the years, like his ever-changing aliases, make for a record that's sometimes maddening and sometimes mystifying but also, at times, quite revealing. As they say, a busted watch tells the truth twice a day. Ray's ever-changing accounts over the years, like his ever-changing aliases, make for a record that's sometimes maddening and sometimes mystifying but also, at times, quite revealing. As they say, a busted watch tells the truth twice a day.

NOTES.

PROLOGUE:.

#416-J.

1 "bloodiest forty-seven acres in America": "bloodiest forty-seven acres in America": This and other details relating to Jeff City prison are adapted from Patrick J. Buchanan, "Jefferson City: The Pen That Just Grew," This and other details relating to Jeff City prison are adapted from Patrick J. Buchanan, "Jefferson City: The Pen That Just Grew," Nation Nation, Nov. 6, 1964.

2 "He was just a "He was just a nothing nothing here": here": McMillan, McMillan, Making of an a.s.sa.s.sin Making of an a.s.sa.s.sin, p. 173, from his personal interview with Missouri corrections commissioner Fred Wilkinson.

3 "an interesting and rather complicated individual": "an interesting and rather complicated individual": Dr. Henry V. Guhleman (prison psychiatrist) to the Missouri Board of Promotion and Parole, Dec. 20, 1966, Hughes Collection. Dr. Henry V. Guhleman (prison psychiatrist) to the Missouri Board of Promotion and Parole, Dec. 20, 1966, Hughes Collection.

4 Librium for his nerves: Librium for his nerves: Ibid. Ibid.

5 "in need of psychiatric help": "in need of psychiatric help": Ibid. Ibid.

6 applying a walnut dye: applying a walnut dye: See the FBI's MURKIN Files, 4441, sec. 56, pp. 4-6. See the FBI's MURKIN Files, 4441, sec. 56, pp. 4-6.

7 considerable quant.i.ties of mineral oil: considerable quant.i.ties of mineral oil: McMillan, McMillan, Making of an a.s.sa.s.sin Making of an a.s.sa.s.sin, p. 181.

8 "When he was using": "When he was using": George McMillan, interview with the inmate Raymond Curtis, box 1, interview notes, McMillan Papers. George McMillan, interview with the inmate Raymond Curtis, box 1, interview notes, McMillan Papers.

9 visitor was his brother: visitor was his brother: Huie, Huie, He Slew the Dreamer He Slew the Dreamer, p. 40. See also Ray and Barsten, Truth at Last Truth at Last, p. 72, in which John Ray acknowledges he visited his brother at Jeff City the day before the escape and agreed to a.s.sist in his brother's flight (facts that he had denied for years, including while under oath before the House Select Committee on a.s.sa.s.sinations).

10 rather astonishing quant.i.ty of eggs: rather astonishing quant.i.ty of eggs: This and other descriptions of the escape come from James Earl Ray's own account in This and other descriptions of the escape come from James Earl Ray's own account in Tennessee Waltz Tennessee Waltz, p. 42.

11 two wads of cash: two wads of cash: Ray, Ray, Who Killed Martin Luther King? Who Killed Martin Luther King?, p. 57.

12 he could strut while sitting: he could strut while sitting: James J. Kilpatrick, "What Makes Wallace Run?" James J. Kilpatrick, "What Makes Wallace Run?" National Review National Review, April 18, 1967.

13 "backlash against anybody of color": "backlash against anybody of color": Wallace on Wallace on Meet the Press Meet the Press, April 23, 1967, quoted in Lesher, George Wallace George Wallace, p. 389.

14 "This is a movement of the people": "This is a movement of the people": Ibid., p. 390. Ibid., p. 390.

15 "If the politicians get in the way": "If the politicians get in the way": Ibid. Ibid.

16 gave it all to the chickens: gave it all to the chickens: FBI, MURKIN Files, 3503, sec. 39, p. 9. FBI, MURKIN Files, 3503, sec. 39, p. 9.

17 "I looked at the stars a lot": "I looked at the stars a lot": This quotation and other first-person depictions of Ray's flight from prison are drawn from James Earl Ray's "20,000 Words," House Select Committee on a.s.sa.s.sinations, This quotation and other first-person depictions of Ray's flight from prison are drawn from James Earl Ray's "20,000 Words," House Select Committee on a.s.sa.s.sinations, Appendix Reports Appendix Reports, vol. 12.

18 called his brother: called his brother: Ray and Barsten, Ray and Barsten, Truth at Last Truth at Last, p. 73. John Ray admits that his brother called him and that he picked up the fugitive at a tavern in central Missouri and then drove him back to St. Louis.

19 hopped an eastbound freight train: hopped an eastbound freight train: Ray, Ray, Tennessee Waltz Tennessee Waltz, p. 45.

CHAPTER 1.

CITY OF WHITE GOLD.

20 all the secret krewes: all the secret krewes: The 1967 Cotton Carnival details here are drawn from Magness, The 1967 Cotton Carnival details here are drawn from Magness, Party with a Purpose Party with a Purpose, p. 242. The description of the 1967 Royal Barge and other carnival atmospherics is drawn from newspaper coverage in the Memphis Commercial Appeal Memphis Commercial Appeal and and Memphis Press-Scimitar Memphis Press-Scimitar, April and May 1967.

21 Memphis was built on the spot: Memphis was built on the spot: For details on the early history of Memphis, see Capers, For details on the early history of Memphis, see Capers, Biography of a River Town; Biography of a River Town; Roper, Roper, Founding of Memphis; Founding of Memphis; Magness, Magness, Past Times; Past Times; and Harkins, and Harkins, Metropolis of the American Nile Metropolis of the American Nile.

22 Front Street, cotton's main drag: Front Street, cotton's main drag: Details here on the business of cotton are drawn from Bearden, Details here on the business of cotton are drawn from Bearden, Cotton Cotton, and Yafa, Big Cotton Big Cotton. I also relied on collections displayed at the Cotton Museum in Memphis.

23 a yellow fever epidemic: a yellow fever epidemic: For a vivid account of the 1878 yellow fever epidemic, see Crosby, For a vivid account of the 1878 yellow fever epidemic, see Crosby, American Plague American Plague.

24 "was built on a bluff": "was built on a bluff": Wills, "Martin Luther King Is Still on the Case." Wills, "Martin Luther King Is Still on the Case."

25 Marcus Brutus Winchester: Marcus Brutus Winchester: Weeks, Weeks, Memphis Memphis, pp. 25-34.

26 Ida B. Wells: Ida B. Wells: For anyone curious about the courageous life of this civil rights matriarch, I recommend her excellent memoir, For anyone curious about the courageous life of this civil rights matriarch, I recommend her excellent memoir, Crusade for Justice Crusade for Justice.

27 renouncing the Klan: renouncing the Klan: Jack Hurst's fine biography, Jack Hurst's fine biography, Nathan Bedford Forrest Nathan Bedford Forrest, deftly traces Forrest's evolution, in his later years, toward racial moderation. See esp. pp. 359-67.

28 masked green jesters: masked green jesters: See Magness, See Magness, Party with a Purpose Party with a Purpose, pp. 205-10.

CHAPTER 2.