THEM

Like so many other Americans at least 55 and older I too can remember where I was when the  assassination of JFK  was announced. I was only a ninth grader but even at the point in my life, I remember having experienced great joy at the election of the young president, the trauma and terror during the Cuban Missile Crisis and the sadness, grief and fear of his death. I was young enough to believe that a president could and should make a difference in my life, naive enough to think that the rest of the nation could follow his lead, and hopeful enough to believe that change was good. Like so many other Americans 55 and older I can recall the somber, silence of those around me; crying, ringing their hands, looking to the heavens for an answer. But I can also remember the creepy fingers of paranoia at the ready to grab any form of reality and replace it with dire, dubious disaster. It was Coach Dunlap’s gym class when the principal rang the gong on the loud speaker asking for everyone’s attention. We were playing basketball and the coach blew very hard on his whistle, longer then when he called a fowl and heavier even to announce the end of the game. The principal with a very wobbly voice and too many choking sounds chomped on his words but finally told us the president was shot. It was the first time I heard an adult use the word assassination other then my history teacher speaking about Lincoln.

School was dismissed, all we knew was that this prince, this handsome young man, this man of the people, this idol of mine who asked what it was I could do for my country had been shot. Walking home from school my two friends began to share the gossip they had heard; anything from the Communists did it, to we had better get home because the foreign troops would be invading the country. It was a 20 minute walk home and as we passed men and women waiting at bus stops all we saw and heard was sobbing, shouting of oh my God. Some people seemed frozen, others were in a hurry, the kind of hurry foreshadowing the announcement of something very bad! My friends and I were terrified, walking home from school had never felt this horrible of a task.

I arrived home to both my mother and father sitting in front of the TV watching Walter Cronkite. Usually my mother would be home to greet me, but to see my father still in his police uniform staring at the television made me quite uncomfortable the kind of upset that makes you dizzy as your heart races. My mother was crying, my father’s eyes were red. My mother looked away from the television and told me the president had died. They killed him she said, they shot and killed him. Suddenly the word they had ominous meaning to it. So, my friends were correct THEY killed the president now THEY most surely would come after all the other Americans. My little sister arrived home from elementary school and was sobbing as she entered the house shouting, is it world war three are they going to drop the bombs. Rumor was rampant, fiction was formed as facts and in my house on my street in my city, my state and my country fear had found its footing.

JFK was a hero for me. He seemed like a movie star, an older brother able to show you the ropes, a best friend always pushing you harder and a man who cared. At 14 years of age, I was inspired, hopeful that the United States was truly a leader among nations not because our weapons were bigger or better, but our leaders were real people. JFK’s death left an emptiness for me and a rude awakening that good does not always prevail, and evil is always lurking. It has been 50 years ago today when the chaos reigned supreme and innocence was lost. That is one thing I will never forget and the loss of innocence I still morn.