Judyth Baker - a credible source?

First topic message reminder :

While reading on William Greer on spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk, I found following statement, obviously, from book of JVB:

Lee (Harvey Oswald) told me that the driver’s habits (William Greer) had been studied, and a shot going off would cause him to brake, which would slow the vehicle down. This was desired because even this cabal feared Aristotle Onassis, who would send killers out to track down anyone who killed Jackie Kennedy, or so the rumor went – and besides, everybody liked Jackie and orders were out not to hit her. It was to spare Jackie that some very expert marksmen missed or delayed their shots that day in Dealey Plaza: she was in their line of sight a great deal of the time, according to David Ferrie, who got the report from Marcello's henchmen as soon as he arrived in the Houston area.

http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/JFKgreerW.htm

Well, I think it is impossible. Conspirators, whoever they were, couldn't have any materials on behaviour of certain SS agents under stress situation, since I believe the very SS did no perform such tests and studies (and thus failed a lot during November 22).

I find such claims from JVB indicates that her story is not 100% truth.

steely_dan wrote:Brian finds himself unable to agree with Barto or Judyth...
Maybe he can start calling himself Dr Watson...drop Jimi...and help find the Ripper.

Oh man, the poor ripper has no hope...

I think we need to start a facebook group...

Fair Play for Jack.

What worries me is that people might start conflating Barto's work with JVB's nonsense. With JVB latching onto Bart's research it might give people the wrong impression. The last thing that Prayer Man needs is for someone like her to be connected to it. It would pollute the Prayer Man evidence.

Vinny wrote:What worries me is that people might start conflating Barto's work with JVB's nonsense. With JVB latching onto Bart's research it might give people the wrong impression. The last thing that Prayer Man needs is for someone like her to be connected to it. It would pollute the Prayer Man evidence.

Point taken Vinny. Could be her strategy for revenge. Nevertheless, more eyes on PM could mean someone new sees the light. I want to be optimistic here. Maybe she's a stalking horse from Trineday courting Barto! Then again, maybe not.

Vinny wrote:What worries me is that people might start conflating Barto's work with JVB's nonsense. With JVB latching onto Bart's research it might give people the wrong impression. The last thing that Prayer Man needs is for someone like her to be connected to it. It would pollute the Prayer Man evidence.

Yes, Vinny point taken. That's already happened with doorway man and the PM figure. Those who don't follow this research closely can easily be misinformed with BS by the charlatans. 

For those who despise the Pm research they would love nothing better to lump that work in with the kooky Doorman stuff or anything else that's from kooksville.

Judyth is back with more of her fairy tales. She posted this on Facebook.

My last task for the Project, the BLOOD TEST, before Dr. Ochsner forced me to return to Florida...
Upon reaching the mental hospital’s main gate, I saw the Aide who had been with Lee at Clinton waiting for us. The timing of our arrival had been planned to coincide with the hospital’s shift change when lots of cars were coming and going through the gates. We were taken behind the huge white main building, where we were in a large semi-paved area.
   There, we took a rough service elevator to the second story, into a fancy area of the hospital. Only important persons were kept in this upscale area of the building, sometimes to dry out from an alcoholic binge. Obviously, our prisoner was being given special treatment. Once Lee knew where I was going to be, he went on to the personnel office to provide an excuse for his presence at the hospital. Meanwhile, I asked a male nurse seated at a little table if I could interview the “client.” I was curtly told that he was in isolation and that nobody was allowed to see him. This angered me, but like it or not, I had work to do. In the clinic area, everything was already laid out for me.  
 I checked the blood-work and data while using a centrifuge to spin down the freshly-drawn blood samples to soft, dark pellets sitting in their plasma. I also inspected slides and blood counts already prepared for me. My additional task was to look for particular cancer cells. A few were found — an excellent sign that the bioweapon worked. The original cancer cells had been tagged with a radioactive tracer. If radiation was detected in the pellets, the volunteer was surely doomed. I checked radiation levels with my specially-sensitized Geiger counter, and there was trace. So it seemed everything was a ‘go.’ I had agreed to do this disgusting work because if the cancer “took” I could insist that no more prisoners were needed.
  If it failed, I planned to recommend dropping the whole idea.  My goal was to stop the testing of any more prisoners, period.
 The microscope work and centrifuging finally complete, I packed it all into the cooler for transport, with fresh ice.  Next, I insisted on observing the prisoner’s current condition to see how he was physically reacting. Lee and I had also discussed that we needed to match notes on the person I saw with the person he had seen. If they were different patients, that was important. So I had prepared myself to look and remember the face I saw.
I was so persistent that the male nurse reluctantly took me to the door of the prisoner’s room.  However, I was not to be allowed inside. The room was barred, but basically clean.  Several storage boxes sat on the floor on the left-hand side of the room as I viewed it, and some flowers sat on a stand.
  The patient was tied to the bed, thrashing around in an obvious fever.
  It was very sad. I felt sorry for the part I had played in his sufferings. I forced myself to look pleased with his status. Told that “a gentleman” was waiting for me downstairs, I was allowed to descend the stairs and leave the front way. We had spent about forty-five minutes at the hospital. Once back in the car, Lee and I compared notes. When I said I was almost sure there was more than one “volunteer” Lee asked me to describe the patient to him. Lee then pointed out that his hairline and nose was different from the patient he had seen injected. Between Lee’s comments and the blood samples, I believed more than one “volunteer” had been injected to test the effectiveness of the bioweapon.
  As Lee drove, suddenly we could hear a hissing sound from under the hood, so Lee pulled over to inspect the engine. There he found a pinhole leak at the connector end of one of the radiator hoses. We needed to improvise some “field dressing” to fix it.  I retrieved a rubber tourniquet from the cooler. Lee said that would help, but we still needed something to hold it in place, so I stripped off my nylon stockings and handed them to him.

He smiled and took out his handkerchief, placing it over the rubber tourniquet and tying both into place with my nylons. It worked well enough for us to continue. It was now twilight: a strong breeze came up. Some raindrops started falling. We hoped it would cool things down, but the engine was still overly hot. Lee then turned into a long, curved driveway, and said, “We’ll have to stop and let the car cool down.” We parked under a big tree, near a nice white house with a big front porch. Lee said this was the home of Reeves Morgan, the person who had prestige at the hospital. He was also a state representative.  “I’ll be right back,” Lee told me, adding that radiator must cool down enough to add water safely, and that I should stay put. Lee went up to the house called out a “Hello!” I thought Mr. Morgan knew Lee, as Lee called out, then walked right in.
  But this may have just been the hospitality that rural Louisiana prides itself on. As I sat in the car, I worked on my charts in the fading light and checked the temperature of the cooler. At one point I looked up and saw a teenaged girl standing on the porch, looking my direction.
This was Reeves Morgan’s daughter, Mary. Since it was almost dark, I didn’t think she could see me. But she did. She later told Garrison investigator Andrew “Moo Moo” Sciambra that she saw a woman sitting in Lee Oswald’s car. a fact that she forgot later. Lee was inside talking about half an hour, after which he came out, put water in the radiator, and then drove us away. Conscious of Robert’s pending return, and this being our third delay, we were now in a hurry. Lee drove us back to New Orleans on the dark and narrow roads as fast as was safe. We were miserable. My work was now finished, and we would be forced to separate.
  So much had gone sour. I would not be going to Tulane Medical School. Ochsner had demanded that I return to Florida at once with my husband, who was scheduled to leave anyway. He had also shouted that Lee and I were both “expendable,” which I considered a threat.
Mary Morgan Jenkins recalled the old car – even its color-- and I was able to tell her the color, as well as answer other questions to prove I had been there, such as what direction the car was parked, with R.A. Millegan as a witness.
The Morgan House was painted a dark color later, as shown in this photo. When Mary asked me what color the house was, before we reached it, I told her it was light-colored or white. It was, in 1963.
 Ochsner had screamed that if I tried to contact anyone on the team again, he was not responsible if I got my head cut off, that Ferrie and Oswald had been warned to have nothing to do with me. What they would be doing after this assignment was over was no longer my business. With such obstacles to face, Lee and I talked a long time about what we could do. The orders from Dr. Ochsner and were passed on to Lee by Dr. Mary.
But Lee and Dave had already figured out how to circumvent some of Ochsner’s instructions. Lee said Dave could set us up with a safe phone line, one of the lines the Mafia used for sports betting, but until then, we should not communicate directly, so everyone would think we had made a clean break.  
   We had acquired powerful and dangerous enemies, and we had to be careful. To simplify his side of things, Lee said that he made it plain to Marina that he would soon leave, never to return. “I told her she had a hundred people in Dallas who would take care of her. She’d be happy there; or she could live with me, and never be happy,” he told me.
Lee felt divorce from Marina was inevitable, even if we’d never met.  She understood that they should go ahead and get it over with while the kids were young. Why should they have a lot of bad memories about their Dad and Mom arguing all the time?    There were tears in his eyes as he drove and told me these things. Lee had considered the weight of his actions, and how they would affect his children. How often would he see them? Would he ever see them again? His grief was real. Even though we had been ordered to break off contact, we dared ‘them’ to stop us from saying good-bye to each other one last time. We were determined to spend as much time as possible together, tomorrow, at our favorite hotel, the Roosevelt.  It was about 11:00 pm when we returned to 1032. We were relieved to see that Robert’s car was not there, but since we expected him any minute, Lee parked his car far down the block. But then -- Suzi Collie came running down the street to greet us, wagging her tail.
  As she did, a car rushed past us and struck her. Suzi Collie yelped in pain and flipped over! We rushed to our canine friend, to check her over. She was panting heavily, but as we anxiously searched for broken bones and signs of internal bleeding, like pale gums, under the weak lamplight, except for a bruised shoulder, we found no important damage. After carrying Suzi Collie to the front porch, Lee gave me a quick kiss goodbye and left. He still had to drop off the reports and blood samples, then buy a bus ticket to use as soon as he was ordered to Mexico City. He bought it immediately, before the bus station closed, because it was important that as much time as possible should exist between the purchase of his ticket and the death of the prisoner(s).
This excerpt from an FBI report shows a Greyhound bus ticket was purchased Aug. 31, 1963. [photo] Lee was the purchaser, late that night.
Lee was seen by Eric Rogers leaving the 4905 apartment on Sept. 24. Records of witnesses saying Lee was on a Continental Trailways bus between Houston and Laredo should be considered a fabrication, as the agent claimed Lee bought a ticket around midnight in Houston in late September, but wearing clothes and shoes Lee didn’t own.

Lee’s intention to go to Mexico was established weeks ahead of time, if he indeed bought the ticket that I think he did. Lee also had to return the car. I had been carrying Lee’s Pocket Aristotle when we had seen Suzi Collie hit by the car, and now, finding the book on the ground, I picked it up and slowly walked home. When I woke Susie because of what had happened, her tears flowed. Suzi Collie was all she had left for daily companionship, even though her family often visited, and took her to church. “Oh my, I could have lost you!” she told her dog, between her kisses. It reminded me how precious all life was. I thought about the “volunteer” I had seen in the hospital. Surely, he had loved ones, somewhere, and he, too, had probably loved someone. It was an emotional conclusion to a nerve-wracking day. And Lee and I had just one day left…
  When Robert got home, he was drunk. Murmuring that he was going to miss all the strip clubs in New Orleans, he collapsed on the bed and started snoring, which made me very happy.  By 2 pm, his hangover finally gone, he left for one last time to try to sell encyclopedias. If he sold one, we would stay an extra day. As the blue Ford pulled away, I made my escape.
  Around 2:30, Lee and I met in the lobby of the glorious Roosevelt Hotel in downtown New Orleans, but I had to close off my mind as to how much dignity and self-respect Robert had sucked out of me.
{here in the book I explained what Robert did to me, which I previously posted}
"As our last moments together approached, we held each other as if our hearts would break. Finally, and sadly, we had our last streetcar ride together. We kissed goodbye on Marengo Street. Concerning Robert, Lee said to look for something very early in the mailbox from David Ferrie.
  Robert was not home yet, so I called Dave on Susie’s phone to verify what Lee wanted him to bring over. Then I asked him to tell Dr. Mary we expected to leave in the morning. I didn’t know that Dr. Mary had already left for London. Lee may have driven her to the airport that morning, they were such close friends now.
   She would spend almost a month out of the country. She was distancing herself from the Project on the very day I confirmed that the prisoner was probably going to die.
   My heart was heavy. Would I ever see Dr. Mary or Dave again? When I hung up the phone, I realized that my dream of finding a cure for cancer was dead. My reward for trying to do what was right was that Lee and I were now in great danger. And I was married to a narcissist I did not dare divorce, who had laid claim to my body, though he had little interest in me as a human being. However, Lee had given me a fabulous list, beginning with the word “McGillicutty,” that this little pony was looking forward to kicking into action.
The Well-Timed Burglary of Dr. Mary Sherman’s Apartment, Night of Aug. 31, 1963
That same night, at about the time Lee and I returned to New Orleans on Aug. 31, someone broke into Mary Sherman’s apartment.   
  A neighbor at the Patio Apartments  called Dr. Mary’s friend, Dr. Carolyn Talley, about the burglary, and then Dr. Talley called Mary in London to inform her.  Mary said that she would file a police report when she returned to New Orleans, which is why the police report is dated 9-27-63, but the time and date of the burglary was listed as 11:00 pm on 8-31-63, almost exactly at the same time that Lee and I returned from Jackson. The police report summarized the value of the stolen property: $35 in currency, $350 in jewelry, $350 in furs, and $1,760 of miscellaneous.
The total loss was $2,495. But what was worth $1,760 in miscellaneous?  $1,760 in 1963 dollars would be worth over $17,000 in 2022.  What was so valuable in Mary Sherman’s apartment that was not money, jewelry or furs?  We can’t say for sure --we don’t have the itemized list of stolen property attached to the report.
  But I told Edward T. Haslam, who inquired as to what “miscellaneous” might represent, that it was likely medical equipment from The Project. The kind of thing you wouldn’t want to find in an apartment if any problems came up about a deadly cancer epidemic breaking out in a mental hospital, for example, where your boss was known to conduct experiments. Unwanted items might include an oil immersion microscope, a centrifuge, the expensive safe box with its attached rubber gloves and venting system, black lights, and what we called Ferrie’s Wheel, for rotating test tubes – just for starters.
  Since the medical phase of the Project was officially over that same day, it made sense to dispose of any evidence connecting Dr. Mary Sherman to the Project. Having a burglary as soon as Mary was out-of- town distanced her from the theft itself and enabled her to quietly file an insurance claim to recover the cost of the equipment when she returned.
If you have questions, I will answer them. The official version is that Lee tried to get a job at a mental hospital 120 miles from New Orleans even though he had no car and there were mental hospitals closer to New Orleans. In a nutshell, Joan Mellen says David Ferrie and Clay Shaw drove Lee up there to get the job so later he could be blamed as insane when he shot JFK.  He drove me there so I could conduct time-sensitive blood tests on injected prisoners, his second time to the hospital in 72 hrs. While I did that, he pretended he was there to check on getting a job, to account for being seen there. He had made a job application on Thursday just to have an alibi if he was seen again on Saturday (he was). The important trip on Thursday was in a black Cadillac which stopped for hours next to a payphone at Clinton, seen by dozens,where the town marshall asked for ID and learned the driver was the super-busy Clay Shaw, of the International Trade Mart. Lee was seen with Shaw and Ferrie there, in the Cadillac. On Saturday, Lee and the car he drove, with  woman in it, was seen by residents of Jackson. Researchers thought that only one trip occurred. They could not explain the two different sets of witnesses or why Lee (who had to courier the bioweapon to Mexico City, needed to observe how an what and where about injecting the prisoners, about oral instructions on keeping the cancer cells alive for more injections, on x-ray dosages to bring down the immune system, and much more to memorize to give the Mexico City Cuban medical contact at the handoff, no paper trail or handbooks allowed. There's much more detail in  the book.
  But many of our best researchers, told years ago that I had no evidence file (there are plenty now) and no witnesses (there are plenty now) continue to ignore the Vanilla Girl.
  It is you who are making the difference. You who recognize the links between the secrets in New Orleans and the secrets in Dallas. They will never release the most important files in your lifetime. So it's going to be up to you. My memory has been tested over and over for years, but I can't live forever. Stand by me, because our country needs the truth.
THE EXCERPT IS FROM THE BOOK LEE HARVEY OSWALD AND ME, TO BE RELEASED AT LAST IN OCTOBER.  Reserve yours (it has 16 pages in full color) by sending $42 to jfkconference@yahoo.com using PayPal. If you paid for the earlier version and it was damaged or you did not receive it, send any amount to help cover postage to get your replacement copy! That small mount will have your updated address and your claim to match with your prior payment.
This book comes to you at a price that no money can buy.
love, judyth

Utterly  repulsive.  Judyth Baker is nothing but a  con artist. A fake medium repackaged  in the  reupholstered  form of a  wannabe  writer of tawdry  5th rate romantic  fiction. 

In fact  she's far worse than  any sham medium. As well as attempting to rewrite  modern American  history to fulfill whatever  grotesque  twisted  psycho pathologies  rattle around inside  her grotesque twisted  snout ( and mind. Juddufkis  conscience  must make your average M C Escher  look like a  smooth,  straight  highway,  heading towards the rising sun, or the  setting  moon) she's  attempting to  con as much money as she can out of ( mostly) elderly  vulnerable  people. Still haunted by the sights they saw that November day.

The  bright  Dallas sunlight  turned  into countless shades of grey. 

And not just by the  TV sets, flickering  sadly. Each picture  falling like tears, filling their minds with  scars . Scars that still remain  fresh. Allowing parasites like  Baker to  turn the  gentle remembrance of  old fresh wounds  into  cold hard cash.

Fuck everyone who has ever enabled this disgusting scam artist

Amazing how gullible people keep sending her money.