luncheon for the Irvingbased Institute for Policy Innovation think tank.
“I saw the motorcade pass about 15 minutes before it happened.”
Cruz was 24 then, the father of 2-year-old and 1-year-old daughters Miriam, now deceased, and Roxana.
He remembered specific details. He was having lunch with co-workers at a restaurant named the Music Box on Cedar Springs Road.
“I was having lunch at that restaurant and we came outside and stood on the sidewalk,” he said.
A check with the Dallas Public Library shows the Music Box indeed as at 2538 Cedar Springs Road, near Routh Street.
It was on the presidential motorcade route from Love Field along Lemmon Avenue, Turtle Creek Boulevard, Cedar Springs Road and Harwood Street to Main Street and then Elm Street past the Texas School Book Depository.
The elder Cruz is an evangelist and translator ordained in 2004 by Coppell-based Ministerios Mundo de Fe (“word of faith”), a network of charismatic, nondenominational churches.
Like us all, I’m sure he has told his memory of that day dozens of times. But as far I can tell, he never told reporters.
(I’ve always said that if Rafael Cruz really had a good story to tell about the assassination, he would have been telling it in the pulpit long ago.)
The Enquirer’s role in the Trump campaign and the president’s personal friendship with Enquirer chairman David Pecker are still coming into focus. Both remain the subject of unrelated investigations into whether campaign payments went unreported to two women who say they had affairs with the President.
A recent Huffington Post report retold in detail “The National Enquirer’s Plot To Assassinate Ted Cruz’s Candidacy.”
Staffers told the Post they were stunned that anyone would even believe the silly story.
Rick Tyler, Cruz’s communications director early in that campaign, is also quoted in the Post.
“What we’ve learned from Trump,” he said, is “if you repeat the lie often enough, there’s a scary amount of people who will believe it.”
Somehow, Rafael Cruz forgave it.