On the front-cover - in the upper left-hand corner - the headline blares:
"EXCLUSIVE: SINATRA & JFK'S SECRET SEX PARTIES,
Politics and Prostitutes, Their Way"
War, prostitution, gambling, drugs, pornography and entertainment are among the few money-making industries these days*. The rackets have taken over. Communists, Big Business and the Mafia control it all, just as they did when JFK was alive. He was the only President who ever opposed them and so they joined forces to kill him. Now they portray him as one of their own.
Proof of that statement can be found in the following excerpts from the June 2003 edition of Playboy magazine. Millions of people reading this Orwellian prolefeed article will believe everything it says because it reinforces what they've been told about JFK for years. The truth of the man has been destroyed and replaced with a total lie. Everything he fought against is still fighting against him, and against decent people everywhere.
When you get to the main body of the article and the speaker is telling his story, I've bolded and underlined every true statement. This is to help readers recognize that propaganda always contains known truths thrown amongst the lies so that people will believe the author knows what he's talking about and will therefore assume the other stuff must be true too.~ Jackie Jura
SINATRA AND THE DARK SIDE OF CAMELOT
Frank and JFK had a lot in common: Gangsters, starlets, hookers and unquestioned power"
The view from inside the Pack, by George Jacobs & Willian Stadiem
"George Jacobs worked as Frank Sinatra's valet from 1953 to 1968. For Mr S, as Jacobs called him, these were the Glory years, when Sinatra reigned as the most powerful man in show business...Sinatra's most complicated - and mysterious - relationship was with the Kennedy brothers, the architects of Camelot. Jacobs has never shared these tales with any reporter or Sinatra biographer - until now. The story begins in 1958, as Sinatra, in his quest for political influence, prepares his California home for a party to honor Joseph P. Kennedy, the powerful patriarch of the Kennedy dynasty and the father of Jack, Bobby and Teddy:
'Mr S had entertained so many gangster types in his Palm Springs compound that I assumed the wiry, bespectaled man who spoke in long a's was another pillar of the underworld. I had met Italian gangsters, and Jewish gangsters. Why not an Irish gangster?
Mr S certainly rolled out the red carpet for him: five fantastic hookers flown down from Vegas... The hospitality that was laid out that weekend was truly extraordinary. Even Sam Giancana didn't get this kind of treatment. Nor did Mr Sam lay on the abuse this 70-year-old guy (whom Sinatra called Mr Ambassador) heaped on all of us. He told nigger jokes throughout the meals, he'd call Indians savages and blacks Sambos and curse the hell out of any one who served him from the wrong side or put one ice cube too many in his Jack Daniel's. "Can't you get any white help?" he would needle Mr. S...
Such was Mr Ambassador Joseph Kennedy, father of our country's most captivating president. If anyone had the guts to spit in his face - a bravery that my boss sadly lacked - Mr Ambassador should have been called Mr Asshole.
Joseph Kennedy was, if anything, cruder about Jews than he was about blacks... To him they were "sheeny rag traders." He referred to the august Louis B Mayer as a "kike junkman." The Jewish jokes didn't stop. The worst one I can recall: "What's the difference between a Jew and a pizza? The pizza doesn't cry on its way to the oven." Poor Mr S having to sit through this, having to force a smile when he should have thrown the guy out to the coyotes. The anti-Semitism was shocking, yet it was nothing new. I was too young to remember Joseph Kennedy's craven appeasement of Adolf Hitler when he was Franklin Roosevelt's ambassador to the Court of St James, a position, like every other, he was said to have bought. I was even younger when he made his fortune as a bootlegger in Prohibition and as an insider trader on Wall Street before Roosevelt made him head of the Securities and Exchange Commission.
Because everybody loved JFK, we have mythologized his family into our American aristocracy and our image of Joe Kennedy is that of a Boston Brahmin patriach. That's about as far off the mark as saying JFK was faithful to Jackie. Joe was mobbed up to his fancy collar pins, with Sam Giancana at the Merchandise Mart in Chicago, the world's largest commercial building, which he owned; with Meyer Lansky in Miami; with the one-armed bandit Wingy Grober in Tahoe. If anyone's fortune was tainted, it was that of Mr Ambassador. Mr S worshiped Joe Kennedy's brute force. His money was fuck-you money. Old Joe said fuck you to everyone. Sinatra respected his arrogance. Here was a poor mick, a street guy who had "passed" for class, getting into Harvard, buying his way into government, laundering his entire image. He was the embodiment of the great American success story.
...Crafty old Joe Kennedy knew just how to play to Mr S's vanity, as well as to his insecurity. The road to power would be his road to respect. Kennedy dangled an ambassadorship to Italy, he threw out the idea of senator from Nevada.
I never lied about how I felt about Joe Kennedy. Mr S felt the same way about the old man, but he liked the boy. He believed in the product the old hustler was promoting. It was the best investment, the ambassador said, that Sinatra could ever make. But to do this, Mr S had a lot to overcome. He had an instinctive hatred of the Irish from Hoboken, when the shanty gangs were the dago gangs' worst enemies, never to be trusted. Mr S had an immediate mistrust of Joe's son Bobby, though he hadn't met him in person. How could he trust this nasty kid, a street-fighter type despite his Harvard sheepskin? This kid was working for Joseph McCarthy one day, chasing Commies in Hollywood among Mr S's friends. Then the next day he was working for another kind of witch-hunter, Senator John McClellan, the phony devout Southern Baptist chasing Teamsters in Chicago, again among Mr S's friends.
What was worse was Bobby's efforts to harass Sinatra's sacred cow, Sam Giancana. When Bobby subpoenaed Mr Sam before him, the polite don took the Fifth, and always with a smile. "I thought only little girls giggled, Mr Giancana," Bobby said, insulting the owner of Chicago on national television. "Can you believe this little weasel?" Mr S shouted when he saw it. "Can you believe how crazy this goddamn mick is!"
...Peter Lawford, like these other guys, preferred hookers. Peter was whips-and-chains kinky and not the slightest bit ashamed of it, at least around me...Peter had married Pat Kennedy in 1954, in one of the society weddings of the year... I also babysat him many times when he got high. He talked about sex and about celebrity body parts, often in the company of his brother-in-law Jack Kennedy. To Jack's delight, Peter had actually been with some of the stars he described, hence tales of Lana Turner's perfect breasts, Judy Garland's perfect blow jobs, Judy Holliday's perfect ass, before she got fat. For all his stars, however, Peter said flat-out that he preferred whores. I can see how he and JFK bonded - over pussy. Peter had a special thing for black girls. Not for mulattoes like Lena Horne, but for jet-black pure African types, who were not seen on the silver screen in those days nor readily available through Hollywood madams.
On his visits to Palm Springs, Joe Kennedy, who expected to be serviced gratis, courtesy of his host, took a liking to one of Mr S's favorite call girls at the time, a dark Irish Catholic beauty named Judy Campbell... Judy would go on to American infamy as the fourth corner of a quadrangle that included Sinatra, Giancana and JFK. But before the son took a bite of this poison apple, father Joseph was there first... Aside from her looks, which combined a little Liz Taylor with a little Jackie Kennedy, Judy had other special qualities... Given that old Joe had had a long famous affair with Gloria Swanson and that young Jack would have a short famous one with Marilyn Monroe and other stars, I was surprised that either guy would have bothered for more than a session or two with Judy Campbell. But I guess the Irish boys liked coming home to roost.
As much as I disliked his father, that's how much I was crazy about John Fitzgerald Kennedy. He was handsome and funny and naughty and as irreverent as Dean Martin.
"What do coloured people want, George?" he asked me the first time he came to visit Palm Springs, not long after Sinatra and Peter Lawford became bosom buddies.
"I don't know, Mr Senator." "Jack, George, Jack." "What do you want, Jack?" I asked. "I want to fuck every woman in Hollywood," he said with a big leering grin. "With a campaign promise like that you can't lose, sir." "You're my man. Jack." "No, it's George, sir." "Who's on third?" "Pardon me, sir?" "Jack, goddamn it. Call me Jack, or I'll send you back to Mississippi. They hate you worse than me."
That was the way we'd go on, giving each other shit all the time, mo master-servant games. He and Mr S got along great. They had everything in common: charisma, talent, power. They were about the same age, but JFK seemed much younger. After all, like his dad, he was a Harvard man. And a war hero. And a Pulitzer Prize-winning author. And a senator. Mr S, dropout 4-F Hoboken man that he was, stood in awe of JFK and is Ivy slickness, his heroics, his acclaim. Yet JFK was far more in awe of Mr S than Mr S was of him. Because Frank Sinatra controlled the one thing JFK wanted more than anything else: pussy. Mr S was the pope of pussy, and JFK was honored to kiss his ring. The pontiff could bestow a Judy Campbell or, if he was feeling magnanimous, a Marilyn Monroe, such was his beneficence.
Marilyn was Mr S's celebrity version of Judy. He brokered assignations not only between her and JFK, but also Giancana and fellow ganster Johnny Roselli. I saw father Joe pinch her ass many times...
Aside from gossip and scandal, John Kennedy was obsessed with Mr S's love life. Because Mr S wasn't a kiss-and-teller, JFK figured he could get the real skinny out of me. He loved getting massages when we talked, and he claimed that I gave the best rubdowns, outside the Senate gym. JFK lived with enormous pain. He wore a kind of stiff girdle to support his bad back, which must have been hell to get into and out of for all the quickies he got. I would work on his back for a good hour, all the while being peppered with prurient questions about his favorite topic: celebrity poontang, as he liked to call it... By the time I rolled him over to do his trunk and thighs he had an enormous erection. He turned beet red, but he didn't ask me to stop, or to stop talking.
"We better get you laid, Jack." "You darn well better," he agreed. "There's something about this desert air."
Even after John F Kennedy declared for the Democratic presidential nomination, I never heard him talk about government or the plans for his New Frontier. I didn't expect him to talk about this stuff with me, except maybe as an ear to the black community, of which I was not really a part. I did, however, assume he and Mr S would have a lot of politics to talk about. After all, Mr S did have that framed and signed photo of FDR in a place of honor on the wall, and I figured that once he agreed to board the Kennedy campaign train, he would get deeply versed in politics. But, no. Here Mr S was with the man who was en route to becoming the great leader of our time, and what do I hear them talk about? Juliet Prowse's shaved mons veneris, what we now call a Brazilian wax. A lot of dancers and showgirls were shaved, but few normal women were, and JFK was intrigued by the whole thing; he pushed Mr S to arrange for him to meet some dancers, for the sake of "scientific curiousity," as the senator put it. "Naked lunch" was what he wanted. Mr S didn't get the joke. JFK had to explain his reference to the title of the hip heroin novel by William Burroughs. Mr S said he'd never heard of it...
The other thing Frank Sinatra didn't want to know about was JFK's drug use. On several occasions in Palm Springs, I was there when Peter Lawfored and the future president did lines of cocaine together in Lawford's guest room. The first time it happened Jack must have seen the shocked look on my face.
"For my back, George," Kennedy said to me, with his bad-boy wink.
Peter was more direct. "For god's sake, George, don't tell Frank," he beseeched me. But to his brother-in-law it was all one big lark.
"National security," he added, laughing, then offered me a line. Just as I kept the secret from Mr S about Peter's drug obsession, I wasn't about to break the bad news about Jack, who Mr S had put on a pedestal. Sex and alcohol may have made Jack a better man in Sinatra's sight. Cocaine was a different story.
While Mr S and JFK kept their dialogue to the affairs of the flesh, whenever Sinatra was with Sam Giancana, their former long sessions on the casino business now gave way to talk about politics, handicapping the odds whether Kennedy could beat Nixon, and whether or not it was a good idea. Mr Sam preferred Nixon. "Bobby Kennedy is the fruit that poisons that whole tree," Sam said, summarizing his deep misgivings. Sinatra did his best to pacify the Chi Man, to assure him the little brother was chump change. "Jack's the candidate, not the weasel," Mr S said, hard-selling the kingpin. "Jack's our friend." I am certain, however, that had Mr Sam not given Mr S his blessing, Mr S and company would never have devoted most of 1960 to getting the Kennedys their impossible dream. But given how much Mr Sam distrusted Bobby, he surely expected some serious tit for tat...
Despite JFK's decadent indulgences, I never sensed that Sinatra was personally troubled in any way by the character of "his leader." Nor did he seem repulsed by the repulsive behaviour of his leader's father...'"
George Jacobs, Memoirist and Valet for Sinatra, Dies at 86, NewYorkTimes, Jan 2, 2013
George Jacobs, a former valet whose memoir revealed his longtime employer, Frank Sinatra, to be both a hero and a villain, died on Saturday in Palm Springs, Calif. He was 86.... Asked about Mr. Jacobs not long after the volume’s publication, Frank Sinatra Jr. said: “I haven’t seen him in 40 years. And, after that thing that he’s doing right now — he’s assassinating the character of my father and all those people — I hope it’s another 40 years before I see him.” Mr. Jacobs’s book described, among much else, an amorous naked clinch between Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich and the insatiable appetite for Hollywood gossip of John F. Kennedy, then a United States senator. (“I would ask him about Castro or Khrushchev, but he wanted to know if Janet Leigh was cheating on Tony Curtis.”)...
JFK POISON PEN KILLERS, by Jackie Jura
* PLAYBOY MAKING MILLIONS (internet porn is job security for Silocon Valley nerds). National Post, May 8m, 2003
JFK had an intern too (& Mafia boss girlfriend who aborted JFK's baby). NY Daily, May 12, 2003
JFK & JOHN BIRCH SOCIETY, by Jackie Jura
THE ENEMY WITHIN, by Robert Francis Kennedy
UNDER-WORLD SURFACING, by Jackie Jura
MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE, CONSPIRACY THEORY, ZOOLANDER (movies about mind-controlled assassins)
THE POSTHUMOUS ASSASSINATION OF JFK - PART II, by James DiEugenio
THE POSTHUMOUS ASSASSINATION OF JFK, by James DiEugenio
DEFENDING JFK - FOREVER
JFK WAS GOOD, THAT'S WHY THEY KILLED HIM
THEY KKK (keep killing Kennedy)
JFK TRUTHS AND UNTRUTHS
Net kiddie porn available (says Pete Townshend in essay). National Post, May 8, 2003. Read the essay: "A Different Bomb"
Go to TOMMY WAS SEXUALLY ABUSED
23.The Proles and 25.Prolefeed and 30.Love Instinct & Family and 35.The Brotherhood
Jackie Jura email: firstname.lastname@example.org
~ an independent researcher monitoring local, national and international events ~
23.The Proles and 25.Prolefeed and 30.Love Instinct & Family and 35.The Brotherhood
Jackie Jura email: email@example.com