Mr. HUBERT. But what you wanted to put in was a private club, not an open or public club like the Carousel? Mr. LITCHFIELD. That’s right—a private club. Mr. HUBERT. And it was your opinion that the Carousel was not the proper place for a private club? Mr. LITCHFIELD. Right—any downtown location. You see, I cannot obtain an open—let’s say a beer license because of my record with the city of Dallas, but I can obtain a private club license from the State of Texas, even though I have a record. I talked to Buddy Mills on the liquor board and he said, “If you haven’t done anything in 3 to 5 years—no conviction or anything,” you can. Mr. HUBERT. That was the first time you were in the Carousel and you were there with Cheek? Mr. LITCHFIELD. No; I was not. I was alone. That was the second time I had been in there. I had been in there one other time—I just went in to see what it was—I didn’t speak to anybody at all that time. Mr. HUBERT. Can you give us the date of the second time that you did speak to him? Mr. LITCHFIELD. I think right around the middle of October—the second week or the third week, somewhere along in there—the exact date—no; I cannot. Mr. HUBERT. I think you said that at the time—or you said once before in your statement—at the time you were there there were some people taking pictures of the club? Mr. LITCHFIELD. There were some fellows—you see, when I walked in Jack wasn’t there and I told the doorman, whom I found out later was his roommate—I don’t remember the man’s name, that I was to see Jack on business and he said he wasn’t there, and so I sat down and had some coffee and watched the bumps and what have you, and after Jack came in, then he had to see two or three people before me. Mr. HUBERT. Did you happen to mention to the doorman or anybody else around there that you were from California? Mr. LITCHFIELD. Yes. Mr. HUBERT. You did so? Mr. LITCHFIELD. Yes. Mr. HUBERT. Whom did you tell that to, do you remember? Mr. LITCHFIELD. The doorman and some other fellow that was sitting there. He asked me where I was from and I said, “California and Phoenix”—is all I said. I didn’t think it was any of his business who I was. Mr. HUBERT. Do you remember the name of the other man, other than the doorman to whom you said that? Mr. LITCHFIELD. No—he was a little short fellow, I would say late forties or maybe even middle fifties. If I remember right he had kind of a silver hairline—I don’t remember—whether he was kind of bald in the center or not, I know it was receding, and he had an appearance of being of Jewish descent. Mr. HUBERT. Do you think you might recognize his name? Mr. LITCHFIELD. I doubt it, because when he was introduced to me I didn’t pay that much attention to it—no, sir. Mr. HUBERT. Who introduced you? Mr. LITCHFIELD. The doorman. They were sitting there together drinking a Seven-Up or a Sprite. Mr. HUBERT. Well, so, you just stayed and waited for Jack? Mr. LITCHFIELD. Yes.