Sun. Feb 25th, 2024

Pierre Tristam's picture

The book is called Killing Kennedy: The End of Camelot. It’s the third in O’Reilly’s morbid but lucrative series on history’s most famous victims of assassins. Killing Lincoln and Killing Jesus were his previous installments in what should be a limitless graveyard of the killed and famous. (The books are all written with Martin Dugard, in distinctly second billing.) Each is produced in the same cookie-cutter of illustrations, maps, an anxious present tense and chapters beginning with dateline and time stamp. “November 22, 1963, Dallas, Texas, 12:31 p.m.,” naturally works better than “Jordan River, Perea, A.D. 26, Midday.” The sentences are always short and never contemplative. O’Reilly is commanding his version of events, not proposing it.

I’ve usually avoided Bill O’Reilly as much as possible. He tried to have me on his show once and I happily declined, as I don’t find the company of bullies particularly enjoyable. That’s one of the many reasons I’ve never been fond of the Kennedys either, especially that unholy trinity of Joe, Jack and Bobby. Who else but Jack and Bobby could make even a prick like Lyndon Johnson look sympathetic?

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