This is a sad day for me. November 22, 1963. The day John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. I was an 8th grader at Hutchinson Junior High in Lubbock, TX. I’d had lunch at home and returned to chaos in the halls. My best friend, Jill, came out of the cafeteria and yelled, “President Kennedy has been shot!”
Every student appeared stunned. We were told on the intercom by the principal to go to our next classes. He put the radio commentary through the intercom. For the rest of the school day, we listened, cried, hoped he’d be all right. But then the news came. “President Kennedy is dead.”
One of the Hutchinson students had a brother who was among the ENTs who took the President to the hospital. He told her JFK was killed instantly. He was there when Jackie followed her husband’s body into the hospital. His description of her still chills me.
That evening on the news with Walter Cronkite we watched Walter announce (in an earlier broadcast) that President Kennedy had died. He was visibly choked up and reached for a tissue to dry his tears.
His next bit of news was a photograph of Jackie standing next to Vice President Lyndon Johnson, his hand raised, taking the oath of office for President of the United States. Jackie’s expression displayed shock, grief beyond anything we’d ever seen, and disbelief.
The funeral came next. When Jackie told JFK Jr.—John John—it was time, that precious little boy, who didn’t understand what was going on, saluted his father when the coffin passed, pulled by horses. Somehow, that procession made it true. He was gone. He was gone.
I’m crying again, remembering those tragic, unbelievable days. Seeing Oswalt killed when he was being escorted by police officers through a dense crowd of spectators did not help our mourning for our beloved President.
The President and First Lady riding in a convertible, open and vulnerable. No one believed he was in danger. Oswald being pushed through a crowd. The disbelief that a president could be shot didn’t exist.
When Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter walked down the middle of the street after his inauguration was such a bold and reckless gesture to the American people, but the tension and worry I felt overshadowed the message Jimmy wanted to convey. That he could walk without fear, and be alive to serve America as President of the United States.
Stephen King wrote an amazing book about a man determined to go back in time to stop that assassination. I remember, while reading, knowing that his efforts to stop the tragedy wouldn’t be successful. Yet, I also felt hope that he would achieve the impossible. 11-22-63 is an astonishing account of the weeks prior to that infamous day.
Millions still wonder how our country and the future would have changed if JFK hadn’t died.
I’d love to think….
Hugs, Happiness, and a wonderful Thanksgiving to all of you.
Linda
As a child I remember my mum saying she remembered JFK being killed as if it was yesterday. At the time I found it really strange he wasn’t even our president.
Then many years ago Princess Diana was killed and I remember every minute of the day and weeks that followed. I understood at last.
Brilliant article I loved this if you ever want to write a piece about JFK I would be honoured to publish it on Murder Mayhem UK.
Take care x