At Reception, they had put him on a stretcher with wheels, and injected him. After surgery, when he opened his eyes, he couldn’t understand at first where he was, but then she began speaking to him, and said, “Everything is all right. We are in the right ward. Don’t worry.” And she patted his hair. She was very gentle. He looked at her but did not smile. Since they had already stitched everything, there was a bandage on his left arm near his wrist. Right arm, nothing. Just his left wrist. She stayed with him from arrival at four in the afternoon until maybe ten o’clock. He asked her not to go, and so she stayed. For six hours.
He had been put in a room with Russians, and Rimma told them he was a good American, but she did not mention that he had tried suicide. She merely said she was from Intourist, and he was American and ill—no further details. She told him to be calm. He asked if she would come and she said she would. Tomorrow morning. Certainly.
Oct. 21
Evening 6:00
Receive word I must leave country at 8:00 PM tonight as visa expires. I am shocked! My dreams! I retire to my room. I have $100 left. I have waited for two years to be accepted. My fondest dreams are shattered because of a petty official, because of bad planning. I planned too much!
7:00 P.M.
I decide to end it. Soak wrist in cold water to numb the pain. Then slash my left wrist. Then plunge wrist into bathtub of hot water. I think, “when Rimma comes at 8 to find me dead it will be a great shock.” Somewhere a violin plays as I watch my life whirl away. I think to myself, “how easy to die,” and “a sweet death to violins.” About 8:00 Rimma finds me unconscious (bathtub water a rich red color). She screams (I remember that) and runs for help. Ambulance comes, am taken to hospital where five stitches are put in my wrist. Poor Rimma stays at my side as interpreter (my Russian is still very bad), far into the night. I tell her, “go home.” My mood is bad, but she stays. She is my “friend.” She has a strong will. Only at this moment I notice she is pretty.
The Moscow doctor did not want her name used, but she could state unqualifiedly that she had been on duty at Botkin Hospital when Oswald arrived at 4:00 P.M., October 21. Not at night. Four o’clock. Now she is almost seventy but, unlike most Russians of her generation, looks younger than her age. One would take her for fifty-five, and well preserved, a short heavy woman, rather handsome, but stolid and sure of herself. She repeats that she does not want publicity and does remember that day well.
It was never a serious wound, she says. Not much more than a scratch. His cut was on the lower part of his left arm, and he was up walking around very soon. Not one day did he stay in bed, not one day. When she came to examine him, he was lively, talked to other people in his ward, was only able to communicate in very bad Russian, but was very communicative.
Given such good condition, he would not have been allowed to stay if he had been a Russian. In and out the same day for such a case. His cut was hardly more than a scratch; it never reached his vein.
As for one’s psychiatric examination, you ask your patient about his family background and other history. Then you go on to his reason: Why did he want to commit suicide? You try to see what kind of mood he’s in. In his mind, is there still something dark? Or is he coming back to life? People either feel grateful for having been saved or are annoyed. Important to distinguish. With him, you didn’t really have to ask such questions because it was not really an attempt. Clearly, he wanted to demonstrate something. Wanted to stay in Moscow. He even said, “I am afraid to go back.” But never said why.
She nods at another psychiatrist’s report at Reception. It is written by a Dr. Mikhailova and states that this patient regrets his attempt and now wants to go home. But that was Reception. A couple of hours later, he doesn’t want to go back. It is not uncommon to have shifting reactions after arrival.
A report by still another doctor states: “Has very definite desire to stay in Soviet Union. No psychosomatic disturbances and is not dangerous.”
Reception reported that the cut was three centimeters, not quite an inch and a quarter long. Surgery stated it was five centimeters, and took four stitches. Agreement in any case that his cut is not deep.
He had not asked Rimma to bring back anything from his room, but she did look around there next day and saw that he had a dark green sweater and two shirts, no more. Maybe he washed one each night. Certainly he always combed his hair and shined his one pair of shoes.
She also brought over the book she had bought for his birthday, The Idiot. Maybe she had made a forecast for this Lee. Since his name didn’t sound Russian at all, he now called himself Alik—her suggestion.
He was in that same ward where she had left him, sitting up, quite all right. His roommates soon told her, “Everything is okay; don’t worry. We’ll take care of Alik; he’s a good guy.” And again she spent a whole day with him and did not go to her office—everything would be taken care of without her.
She was pleased; Alik was so happy to see her that he even blushed, and she believed that now Soviet authorities would change their opinion and do something. Because they should. They would not allow him to die.
When Alexander received this news about Oswald, his reaction was terrible. Very terrible. Strong. If this young man feels that he is not able to return, Alexander thought, maybe someone is following him back there in the States, etc., etc. Oswald had not said that, but he did give such an impression. That he was afraid to go back.
Next day when she came to his mental ward and they asked who it was, she said svaie, which means “people who are close” or “family,” and that struck her as funny. What kind of family was this, all cuckoo, and now she had become one with cuckoo people. She explained to Alik that she didn’t think he was crazy, he was even normal, but they did have to examine and study him. And, for that matter, she thought to herself that some psychiatrists might be from KGB. She did not exclude such thoughts.
3
Rosa, Rimma, and Richard Snyder
Oct. 22
I am alone with Rimma amongst the mentally ill. She encourages me and scolds me. She says she will get me transferred to another section . . . (not for insane) where food is good.
Oct. 23
Transferred to ordinary ward. (Airy, good food.) But nurses are suspicious of me. (They know.)
Oct. 23 Afternoon.
I am visited by Rosa Agafonova of the hotel tourist office, who asks about my health. Very beautiful, excellent English, very merry and kind. She makes me very glad to be alive.
Rosa, at twenty-eight, was not only pretty but had the chief position of Senior Interpreter at Berlin Hotel’s bureau of Intourist. So she did not often go out with groups or individuals. She was there to oversee visas, passports, train tickets, theatre tickets, excursions, escorts, and special occasions. Her visit to Oswald was in this last category. While her hotel staff at Intourist were careful not to talk about the American who tried to commit suicide, still, a couple of days after his attempt, her boss said to her, “Take one of our cars, go to a restaurant, get some fruit, take Rimma, and visit Lee Oswald at Botkin Hospital.”
Rosa remembers he was wearing hospital clothes and had a bandage on his arm, but she didn’t think he could have cut his veins very deeply, because he looked well. They joked a little. She didn’t want to touch upon a delicate subject, so they just had a general conversation. Maybe the visit took thirty minutes, and she left with Rimma. The Intourist car was waiting for her.
Oct. 25.
Hospital routine. Rimma visits me in afternoon.
Oct. 26.
Afternoon. Rimma visits.
Oct. 27.
Stitches are taken out by doctor with “dull” scissors.
Wed. Oct. 28.
Leave hospital in Intourist car with Rimma for Hotel Berlin. Later, I change hotel to Metropole. Rimma notified me that [the] passport and registration office wishes to see me about my future.
Later, Rimma and car pick me up and we enter the office to find four officials wai
ting for me (all unknown to me). They ask how my arm is, I say OK; they ask, Do you want to go to your homeland? I say no, I want Soviet citizenship. They say they will see about that . . . They make notes. “What papers do you have to show who and what you are?” I give them my discharge papers from the Marine Corps. They say, “Wait for our answer.” I ask, “How long?” “Not soon.”
Later, Rimma comes to check on me. I feel insulted, and insult her.
October 29
Hotel room 214, Metropole Hotel.
I wait. I worry. I eat once, stay next to phone. Worry. I keep fully dressed.
October 31
I make my decision. Getting passport at 12 o’clock, I meet and talk with Rimma for a few minutes. She says: “Stay in your room and eat well.” I don’t tell her about what I am about to do since I know she would not approve. After she leaves, I wait a few minutes and then I catch a taxi. “American Embassy,” I say. Twelve-thirty I arrive American Embassy. I walk, say to the receptionist, “I would like to see the Consul.” She points to a large ledger and says, “If you are a tourist, please register.” I take out my American passport and lay it on the desk. “I’ve come to dissolve my American citizenship,” I say matter-of-factly. She rises and enters the office of Richard Snyder, American Head Consul in Moscow at that time. He invites me to sit down. He finishes a letter he is typing and then asks what he can do for me. I tell him I’ve decided to take Soviet citizenship, and would like to legally dissolve my U.S. citizenship. His assistant (now Head Consul) McVickar looks up from his work.
Snyder takes down personal information, asks questions. Snyder warns me not to take any steps before the Soviets accept me, says I am a fool, and says the dissolution papers will take time in preparing. (In other words, refuses to allow me at that time to dissolve U.S. citizenship.) I state: “My mind is made up. From this date forward, I consider myself no citizen of the USA.” I spend forty minutes at the Embassy before Snyder says, “Now, unless you wish to expound on your Marxist beliefs, you can go.” “I wish to dissolve U.S. citizenship.” “Not today,” he says in effect.
I leave Embassy, elated at the showdown, return to my Hotel. I feel now my energies are not spent in vain. I am sure Russians will accept me after this sign of my faith in them.
From testimony before the Warren Commission, June 9, 1964:
MR. COLEMAN. Why didn’t you provide him with an affidavit at that time?
MR. SNYDER. . . . it didn’t seem to me the sensible thing to do . . . it is sort of axiomatic, I think, in the consular service that when a man, a citizen, comes in and asks to renounce his citizenship, you don’t whip out a piece of paper and have him sign it. This is a very serious step, of course, an irrevocable step, really, and if nothing else you attempt to . . . make sure that the person knows what he is doing. You explain, for one thing, what the meaning of the act is; and, secondly, again speaking for myself—I cannot speak for the Foreign Service in this—provide a little breather, if possible make the man leave your office and come back to it at a later time, just to make sure—for what value there is in making sure—that the man’s action is not something completely off the top of his head.1
Oct. 31. 2 o’clock.
A knock. A reporter by the name of Goldstene wants an interview. I’m flabbergasted. “How did you find out?” “The Embassy called us,” he said. I send him away. I sit and realize this is one way to bring pressure on me by notifying my relations in the U.S. through the newspapers. They would say, “It’s for the public record.”
A half hour later, another reporter, Miss Mosby, comes. I answer a few quick questions after refusing an interview. I am surprised at the interest. I refuse all calls without finding out [first] who it’s from. I feel nonplussed because of the attention.
MR. COLEMAN. Mr. Snyder, could you tell the Commission what the Petrulli case was?
MR. SNYDER. Yes. The Petrulli case I remember quite well.
Mr. Petrulli was an American citizen who . . . did apply for Soviet citizenship while in Moscow [and] was interviewed by me to renounce his American citizenship. I did not, in accordance with the thinking I outlined to you earlier—I did not accept his renunciation the first time he came in, but did accept it when he subsequently appeared, and insisted that is what he wanted to do.
The case had a . . . rather rapid denouement, when the Soviet authorities, after having looked him over for a number of weeks, decided that they did not want him as a citizen or resident of the Soviet Union . . . we subsequently learned . . . that Mr. Petrulli had been discharged from the Armed Forces . . . [with] a 100-percent mental disability [and] the head of the consular section of the Soviet Foreign Ministry called me into the Foreign Ministry one day and said [that] Mr. Petrulli has overstayed his visa in the Soviet Union . . . and “We request that you take steps to see that he leaves the country immediately.”
I told the Soviet official that to the best of my knowledge Mr. Petrulli was not then an American citizen, he having executed a renunciation of citizenship before me.
The Soviet official said in effect, “As far as we are concerned, he came here on an American passport, and we ask that you get him out of here.”
Well, [the State Department decided] that Mr. Petrulli’s renunciation was null and void because he was not competent . . . and we shipped him home.
The Petrulli case, as I say, was very much in my mind when Mr. Oswald showed up.2
November 1
More reporters. Three phone calls from brother and mother. Now I feel slightly exhilarated, not so lonely.
REPRESENTATIVE FORD. Was [Oswald] satisfied or dissatisfied with the result of his conference with you?
MR. SNYDER. I think he was dissatisfied, if anything . . . It is quite possible that this was to be his big moment on the stage of history as far as he was concerned. He may have contemplated this for some time . . . as he said—and thus my refusal at that time may have been a hurdle which he was totally unprepared for . . . 3
4
What’s My News?
He still didn’t know whether he could remain in the country. They were deliberating. To Rimma, his situation began to seem bad. He had no money. At the Metropole Hotel, it was no longer Deluxe for him like at the Berlin Hotel, but still, he had a good room. Only now it was cold. Not winter, not yet snow, but cold outside. No tour, no sightseeing, no money for food, and who should pay for his hotel?
She went to Rosa, and both of them talked about the poor condition of his clothing to Alexander, who approved a purchase in GUM department store of one good hat. Lee Harvey Oswald liked it very much and tried to hug Rimma and Rosa and kiss them. He was very happy. Affectionate, yes, yes, emotional. And Alexander had no fear of buying this hat, because, certainly, he would report it.
From Tachikawa airbase in Japan, a telegram was sent on November 9 to Lee Oswald c/o the American Embassy in Moscow. Its author was Sgt. John E. Pic:
PLEASE RECONSIDER YOUR INTENTIONS.
CONTACT ME IF POSSIBLE.
LOVE
JOHN1
John McVickar, of the American Embassy in Moscow, wrote a note for the Oswald file.
Nov. 9, 1959
I took a typed copy of the message from Pic (Oswald’s half-brother) down to the Metropole Hotel today to deliver to Oswald. I went directly to the room (233) and knocked several times, but no one answered. The cleaning lady told me that he was in the room and only came out to go to the toilet . . . . I decided not to leave the message, but to have it sent by registered mail. On the way out I phoned from downstairs, but no answer. McV2
Nov. 2–15
Days of utter loneliness. I refuse all reporters, phone calls. I remain in my room. I am racked with dysentery.
Now, at the Metropole, Rimma would go up to his room. She could. She had been given new rules, as if it were a new case. She was assigned to taking full care of him. He was no longer a tourist. They took it as something very serious, and so did he. Why were they not solving this problem? He was very
nervous. He told her that all his money had gone for his tour Deluxe. He had done it purposely. If he was on a tour alone, more attention would be given to him than in a group, and that way he could fulfill his plan.
Rimma’s relationship with Lee became a good deal closer. He was very much like a relative now—but not a brother, not a boyfriend, in between. He wanted to kiss her and was ready to try, but she didn’t want that. She never kissed him at all, not ever. It was considered, as the English would say, not good form to behave like that. People who did could lose their jobs. Of course, for her, as a person, she could certainly kiss him if she wished it that much, but, you see, she did not. Certainly not. She had a boyfriend, a young engineer, graduate of Moscow Power Institute, whom she would see once a week. A loving fellow. Moreover, with Alik it was a situation where it was impossible to be light-minded. The consequences of improper behavior could not be simple. A Russian writer said once, “It’s better to die than to kiss without love,” and good girls were of that same opinion. If she didn’t love him and didn’t want close relations, then she should not kiss. So she patted him on his hand. Enough. Her psychology.
Besides, she had to send reports to her chief and be factual, always factual. So how could she kiss? Was she to report that? She would say Alik was okay, he wanted to be accepted into their Soviet Union; she tried to give a good impression of him, but factual. Sometimes she wrote her report daily, sometimes weekly; it depended on how much information she received. They didn’t ask her to tell them every day but absolutely when she felt she should. Very difficult days.