Fifty years ago, November 22, 1963, I was in Mrs. Spurlock’s 5th grade class in the “rock building” at Woodville Elementary School. (OK, so now you know how old I am- but maybe I was a baby prodigy, so maybe you dont.:) We were told nothing of President Kennedy’s assassination officially. The way I heard about it was, of all places, in the bathroom. I still remember standing there, washing my hands, about to go back to class, when one of my classmates, Cherry Kay, came in, saw me, and told me she’d overheard the janitor telling our teacher that the President had been shot. I told her she must be mistaken, because I honestly couldn’t imagine anyone doing something so terrible. That afternoon, I got out of school a little early, as my Mom was taking me to Jacksonville to see my oldest sister, who was a drama major, in a play. The play was, of all things, “Julius Caesar.” When I got into the car, I knew something was wrong. Momma looked really upset. I can still remember exactly where her car was parked- still see the setting as clearly as if it happened today. I got in and Momma said “The President is dead.” I just started crying and asking how. She told me about him being shot. She said she’d called Lon Morris, to ask if the play was still going on, and was told it was, so we were going to go. That was the longest drive- I think we just listened to the radio, trying desperately to grasp some sense into this senseless act. When we got to the theater, the director came out before hand and spoke about the day’s sad events. He said they considered canceling the play, especially given it was “Julius Caesar”, but the students felt very strongly they wanted to present it, to show that violence doesn’t solve anything. I remember Paula telling me that a lot of guys really did get injured that night- the swords weren’t sharp, but they were hard, and there was so much raw emotion, some hit a bit too hard. I remember a lot of people weeping openly at the play- it was as if we were there in Dallas, watching senseless murder in front of us. That weekend is a blur, but I remember watching the funeral on TV a few days later. How did they ever pull all that together in such a short time? To have to put forth a plan for which no one had planned in such a short time, knowing that this was not only for this tragic young family, but also for the world to grieve our dynamic young President. Memories float through my mind-the black, riderless horse, with the boots turned backwards in the stirrups; the muffled cadence of the drums; little John-John and Caroline in their matching coats, and the salute he gave as his Daddy was driven past him in the horse-pulled caisson; Jackie looking so brave, so beautiful, and so tragic. That was just the beginning of what seemed a childhood full of horrific political murders, Dr. King, and Bobby Kennedy, not to mention the murders of so many in the Civil Rights movement and the carnage of the Viet Nam war. It seemed my safe world came apart, and I don’t know that I’ve ever felt completely safe since.
Posted on: Fri, 22 Nov 2013 04:38:05 +0000
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