Fifty Years Ago Today (written 22nd November 2013) The time was exactly 1.30pm. It was my second day in the USA being shown around Taylor High School on the south side of Detroit. I was blissfully ignorant of an assassination which took place at that moment. More than a thousand miles to the south in Dallas, Texas, John F Kennedy, the President of the United States, had just been shot in the head. Jackie Kennedy, covered in his blood, was cradling him in her arms. I was answering questions about life in England. Suddenly, the whole class became still and quiet. The teacher and all the students stood to attention. A strikingly handsome, distinguished-looking man in his early 50s had walked into the room and was reverently received in silence. He was smiling a sad, weary smile. Briefly, Mr Hackett made necessary introductions. Dr DeLoach! Welcome. This is the Englishman, Narvel Annable, the one I was telling you about. Hes fresh off the Queen Elizabeth. Narvel, this Dr DeLoach, our Principal. Glad to know you, Narvel. I hope youll be very happy here in the United States. His eyes swept over the class before returning to meet the newcomer. He continued in a deep, rich voice. Im sure were all going to pull together to make you feel at home. I accepted the large hand which had been graciously extended and replied with a barely audible - Thank you, sir. During that moment, the moment of the firm warm grip, I felt honoured and took an immediate liking to this charming and cordial gentleman. The time was exactly ten minutes past two. Please be seated, Mr Hackett, Narvel, ladies and gentlemen. As you know, I normally use the public address system to make announcements, but this one needs the personal touch. It is rather different. My three Vice-Principals are gradually getting around the school with the same news, tragic news, Im afraid. A few minutes ago it was confirmed that our President, Jack Kennedy, is dead. He died 25 minutes after being shot several times by an unknown assassin ... He said a few more words to his hushed and shocked audience. Little by little, they slowly absorbed this doleful intelligence. Each individual interpreted the news in a slightly different way, but my private feelings were fairly typical of the general view. John Fitzgerald Kennedy, with his attractive boyish smile, came across as sincere and had come to symbolise all the fresh green hopes of young America. His auspicious inauguration speech included - The torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans. At the age of 43, he was the youngest ever President of the United States. He had been in office barely three years since his election on November 9th, 1960. As a 15-year-old at school in Heanor, I welcomed his appearance as a good omen for his personal future. The desirable, dashing, eloquent and calm Kennedy contrasted strongly with his opposite number who ruled the Communist world. Nikita Khrushchev was old and repulsive, a little, bald rotundity who was given to tantrums. He once took off his shoe and banged it against the podium at the United Nations. Often ominous, he threatened to bury the west. His wife, plump, dowdy and grey, looked more like a Russian road sweeper. She looked like a cleaner at Narvels school; hardly the First Lady of the Soviet Union. Seeing her walk alongside the beautiful and glamorous Jacqueline Kennedy reinforced the deepening fear and prejudice. Very soon we all saw television images of a tragic blood-splattered Jackie, desperately clambering on the back of an accelerating open top Lincoln Continental, in a panic-stricken, pathetic attempt to rescue bits of her husbands brain, the handsome husband who was as good as dead. For me John F Kennedy had come to be the essence of all the promise, all that was best, all that was good in the United States. The 35th American President had come to symbolise the American Dream ... and, at that moment, my American Dream died with that young President.
Posted on: Sat, 23 Nov 2013 20:51:56 +0000
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