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The House Select Committee on Assassinations (HSCA) payroll records, declassified under the 1992 JFK Act, reveal the quiet backbone of one of America’s most scrutinized investigations—clerks, secretaries, and attorneys whose daily grind fueled the search for answers in JFK’s death.

President John F. Kennedy’s assassination on November 22, 1963, remains a wound in the American psyche—decades of questions, theories, and distrust trailing in its wake. The Warren Commission’s 1964 report pinned it on Lee Harvey Oswald, a lone gunman, but doubts lingered. By 1976, Congress formed the House Select Committee on Assassinations (HSCA) to dig deeper into the deaths of JFK and Martin Luther King Jr., driven by public demand for clarity. The committee’s 1979 report—hinting at a “probable conspiracy” in JFK’s case—relied on more than just high-profile investigators. It rested on a cadre of unsung staff—clerks typing memos, secretaries managing chaos, attorneys sifting evidence—whose names and roles emerge in payroll records declassified under the John F. Kennedy Assassination Records Collection Act of 1992.

I’ve spent years chasing stories that matter—government transparency, justice, the overlooked—and these documents, released by the Assassination Records Review Board (ARRB) in 1995, caught my eye. They’re not the smoking gun conspiracy buffs crave; they’re payroll forms, memos, and letters—dry on the surface, rich beneath. They spotlight the human machinery behind the HSCA’s three-year probe, from clerical hands like Denise L. McCray to legal minds like Leodis C. Matthews. Here’s what they reveal about the people who powered this historic effort—and why their work still echoes today.

The Paper Trail: Who They Were

The HSCA wasn’t just Louis Stokes, its final chairman, or G. Robert Blakey, its chief counsel—it was a team of dozens, their lives etched in payroll authorizations and personnel files. Take Denise L. McCray—hired December 13, 1976, as a clerical staffer at $10,000 a year. Her salary climbed to $18,000 by 1978, reflecting her value in administrative and secretarial roles. Letters from Stokes and Acting Chief Counsel Alvin B. Lewis Jr. praise her service, noting her resignation with regret—a quiet exit from a loud mission. Then there’s Leodis C. Matthews, a Senior Staff Attorney on the JFK Task Force, starting October 14, 1977, at $30,000, bumped to $32,700. A former Senior Deputy DA from Portland, Oregon, he brought legal heft to the probe.

Vivian L. McPherson joined as a Clerk on October 1, 1976, at $14,000, rising to Executive Assistant with a final salary of $17,100 by July 1978—her tenure marked by steady raises and a personal leave record showing her juggling life amid the grind. Kenneth S. McHargh, a Staff Attorney with the MLK Task Force, started February 22, 1978, at $27,000, ending December 31, 1978—his legal stint brief but pivotal. Sari Mordana, a Law Assistant from November 23, 1976, to September 12, 1977, saw her pay swing from $10,000 to $30,000, then settle at $19,500—her Columbia Law resume and ACLU clerkship hinting at ambition cut short. Dawne C. Miller, Blakey’s Administrative Assistant from September 15, 1977, earned $21,500, later $23,000—her role steadying the chief counsel’s helm. Barbara L. Mosley, Typist-Secretary on the MLK Task Force from July 5, 1977, hit $16,800 by December 1978, while Rita L. Morton’s secretarial stint from December 27, 1976, to April 30, 1977, peaked at $26,000—a short but impactful run.

These records—payroll forms signed by Stokes, memos from Blakey, certifications of no congressional ties—paint a picture of a diverse crew. Clerks like McCray and Mosley kept the gears turning; secretaries like Miller and Morton managed the flood; attorneys like Matthews and Mordana wrestled the evidence. Their salaries—modest by today’s standards—reflect the era’s economics, but the raises signal their worth to a committee racing against time and scrutiny.

The Mission: A Grind Beyond the Spotlight

The HSCA’s mandate was daunting—revisit the JFK assassination, probe MLK’s death, and untangle decades of doubt. From 1976 to 1979, it interviewed witnesses, scoured files, and chased leads—concluding JFK’s death likely involved a conspiracy, a bombshell that still fuels debate. Behind the headlines were these staffers, their days a blur of typing, filing, and legal wrangling. McCray’s memos kept the office humming; Matthews’ briefs shaped the JFK Task Force; Mordana’s research—cut short by her exit—fed into early theories.

The records hint at the pressure. Mordana’s resignation alongside others in September 1977 suggests burnout or shifting priorities—her ACLU roots and Columbia creds outpacing the HSCA’s chaos. McPherson’s leave log—1.0, 1.5, 2.0-hour increments—shows a woman balancing duty and life. Miller’s role as Blakey’s right hand tied her to the committee’s core, her $23,000 finale a nod to her endurance. Mosley’s typist work on MLK files—$12,965 to $16,800—underscored the meticulous detail needed. Morton’s brief $26,000 peak and exit by April 1977 hint at the toll of early uncertainty under chairmen like Henry B. Gonzalez.

The ARRB’s 1995 release—postponing Social Security numbers for privacy, set for 2017 review—shows a balance between transparency and protection. These weren’t spies or headline-grabbers; they were workers whose lives intersected with history. Their files, stamped with Stokes’ signature or Blakey’s memos, reveal a committee scrambling to staff up—sometimes misstepping, like Mordana’s $30,000 spike to $15,000—yet pushing forward.

Why It Matters: The Human Cost of Truth

These payroll records aren’t sexy—no cryptic codes or Oswald confessions—but they’re a window into the human cost of chasing truth. The HSCA’s “probable conspiracy” finding—based on acoustic evidence of a second shooter—rested on more than science; it leaned on McCray’s typed notes, Matthews’ legal arguments, Miller’s scheduling. Their work fueled a report that challenged the Warren Commission, amplifying public distrust and shaping decades of inquiry.

I’m against violence—it’s wrong, dangerous, and misses the mark—but I dig into these stories neutrally. The HSCA staff didn’t throw Molotovs; they wielded pens and typewriters, grinding through bureaucracy to serve justice. Their efforts echo today—TSLA’s $258.49 stock (March 31, 2025) reflects Musk’s empire, but these records remind us of quieter battles. The danger wasn’t bullets; it was the weight of secrets, the risk of missing a thread. I hope those who broke laws—like vandals—face justice; here, it’s about honoring those who didn’t.

Take McCray’s farewell letter from Stokes—gratitude for her “fine service”—or Mordana’s ACLU-honed resume, cut short. Matthews’ Portland DA roots brought grit; Mosley’s typing kept MLK’s case alive. These weren’t faceless cogs—they were people, their paychecks a lifeline to history. The ARRB’s redactions—SSNs swapped for “SSN”—guard their privacy, a nod to their humanity decades later.

Beyond the Files: A Legacy of Questions

The HSCA’s work didn’t end conspiracies—it fed them. Oswald’s lone gunman status cracked, but answers stayed elusive. These staffers—McCray, Matthews, McPherson, and the rest—were the backbone, their labor a quiet stand against chaos. Their records, declassified in 1995, sit in the National Archives, a testament to a probe that dared to ask. What’s your take—did their grind bring us closer to truth, or just deeper into the maze?

“These staffers didn’t chase fame—they chased facts, stitching together a truth that still eludes us.”
—Ashes, Independent Investigative Journalist