Sending the wire was when I had the phone call—or the money order.
I drove down Main Street—there was a little incident I left out, that I started to go down a driveway, but I wanted to go by the wreaths, and I saw them and started to cry again.
Then I drove, parked the car across from the Western Union, went into the Western Union, sent the money order, whatever it was, walked the distance from the Western Union to the ramp—I didn't sneak in. I didn't linger in there.
I didn't crouch or hide behind anyone, unless the television camera can make it seem that way.
There was an officer talking—I don't know what rank he had—talking to a Sam Pease in a car parked up on the curb.
I walked down those few steps, and there was the person that—I wouldn't say I saw red—it was a feeling I had for our beloved President and Mrs. Kennedy, that he was insignificant to what my purpose was.
And when I walked down the ramp—I would say there was an 8-foot clearance—not that I wanted to be a hero, or I didn't realize that even if the officer would have observed me, the klieg lights, but I can't take that.
I did not mingle with the crowd. There was no one near me when I walked down that ramp, because if you will time the time I sent the money order, I think it was 10:17 Sunday morning.
I think the actual act was committed—I take that back—was it 11 o'clock? You should know this.
Mr. Moore. 11:21.