Bob Jackson doesn’t know what happened, or where the press car is going now, or why, only that it is following the rest of the motorcade toward Stemmons Freeway at a high speed. He is still holding his empty camera in his lap. The other one, which is loaded, is still strapped around his neck. It all happened so fast he didn’t get a single photograph. If he had only gotten a picture of the rifle barrel in the window, he undoubtedly would have won the Pulitzer Priize for the best news photograph of the year. (Jackson redeemed himself two days later when he took a Pulitzer Prize-winning photograph of the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald by nightclub owner Jack Ruby.)
An excerpt from Vincent Bugliosi’s Four Days in November.