The first mysterious thing about this guy is his birthdate. Most sources say it is March 25, 1911. But the Warren Commission found that it was supposedly April 25, 1911, and that is what was engraved on his headstone. Jack Ruby.
He was born in Chicago. That’s for sure, sometime in the spring of 1911, so I suppose I’ll have to leave it there, for now.
His given name was Jacob Leon Rubenstein, there in the Maxwell Street area of Chicago. His dad was named Joseph Rubenstein and his mom was Fannie Turek Rutkowski (or Rokowsky). As we might guess from the names, they were both Orthodox Jews and both from Poland.
They had a bunch of kids. I’m not sure how many in all, but Jacob Leon Rubenstein was the fifth of 10 surviving children. It sounds like he had a truly awful childhood. His parents were frequently violent towards one another. And mostly in a “separated” scenario, off and on, off and on.
There wasn’t a report about this, but his mother was eventually committed to a mental hospital. That had to be hard on the kids.
It is no surprise that his childhood, in all its trouble, was filled with juvenile delinquency. He spent a lot of time in foster homes as well. And at the ripe old age of 11, he was arrested for truancy. It seems to me, that sometimes, in our culture, certain kids, families, circumstances, lay the early groundwork for what is to come. Their lives seem “mapped out” by these conditions. Albeit, many people transcend these environments, but I fear this is rare, rather than frequent.
Anyway, he got into all sorts of this and that, from selling horse racing tip sheets to acting as a business agent for teamsters union. His nickname was “Sparky” but he didn’t like it. He was quick to fight anyone who happened to call him Sparky. During WWII, he served in the army as an airplane mechanic, stationed in the United States. After the war, he moved to Dallas, with some of his brothers. That’s about the time they shortened their name to Ruby. That’s when everyone started calling him Jack Ruby.
And from there, his life was all about managing nightclubs, strip clubs, dance halls. He apparently was connected to the underside of things. He developed close ties to many Dallas Police officers who frequented his nightclubs. He would give those guys free liquor, prostitutes and other favors. The way of the world, sometimes.
Ruby was never married and he never had any children.
But he did have a dog. A dachshund. Named Sheba. He would frequently joke around, saying it was his wife.
And then that day came around November 24, 1963. He drove into town with his dog. His little dog Sheba, there, probably riding shotgun. No pun intended. I guess Sheba could have been a lap sitter though, head out the window, face in the wind. In any case, he took her with him. First, he went to the Western Union to send some money to one of his employees. Then, he walked a half block to the Dallas Police headquarters and went down to the basement. He waited there until the police were taking Lee Harvey Oswald to an armored car. Ruby stepped out from a crowd of reporters and fired a single shot from his .38 Colt Cobra revolver. One shot, fatally wounding Oswald. And that was that.
Initially, he was found guilty and sentenced to death. A lot went on after that, in the way of appeals, and such. His conviction was overturned and he was awaiting retrial when he got pretty sick. On December 9, 1966, Ruby was admitted to Parkland Hospital in Dallas. A day later, doctors realized he had cancer in his liver, lungs, and brain. Three weeks later, he died, on January 3, 1967. He was 55. And once again, that was that.
Do you know what struck me about all of this?
This morning, I looked down at Lou, who was looking up at me, like I was the sun and the moon. And I gave out a big thanks for dogs, those amazing little beings, with hearts and souls that love humans, despite ourselves. That’s what I was thinking when I looked at Lou. That little guy loves me, no matter what. And it made me well up inside.
Then I read this, about Sheba. That day. Out for a ride, with her human Jack. And despite him being a sleazy, underworld, criminal, murdering Jack Ruby, that little dachshund loved him. She probably waited on the seat of that car, in downtown Dallas, for who knows how long. Waiting. Wondering. She never found out why her human didn’t come back. That made me sad.
And this world never ceases to amaze me.
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“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
― Albert Einstein
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“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.”
― Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul
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“I go to seek a Great Perhaps.”
― François Rabelais
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