Kent Biffle Sound of the first shot seemed to freeze the motorcade. The press bus in front of our car halted. Another shot cracked. Lewis Harris was driving. There were four of us in the car.
Somebody go look.
As I slammed the car door behind me another shot rang out. Our car had been approaching the turn from Houston onto Elm when the procession momentarily stopped. People were everywhere. A rush of men and women swept by me. They were running away from the sound of shots.