Thinking, as I always do, of President Kennedys assassination. November 22, 1963. I was freaking out over the assassination. My father was at the Pentagon then and he called to say that he wouldnt be home anytime soon, because the whole place was On Alert. Our high school principal put the radio news reports onto the school intercom during our typing class. We all pulled out our rosaries. After JFK was reported dead, the nuns sent us home. I walked home from school and found my mother sitting on our front steps. My parents were staunch Republicans but they were nonetheless horrified by the events of the day. The next few days were surreal. Some friend of mine were honor guards at Andrews AFB when Kennedys coffin was brought in. We saw Lee Harvey Oswald shot by Jack Ruby on live TV. We were fearful and confused, wondering what might happen next. A few days later, we watched JFK lying in state at the Capitol. My sister Prissie and I went downtown to see the funeral. We chose a spot near St. Matthews Cathedral, and saw Jacqueline Kennedy and her children, JFKs cortege, the riderless horse, the whole catastrophe. The entire week was terrifying and we had no idea what would happen next. I wondered whether this was the beginning of a massive coup. Crazy rumors circulated, decades before there was an Internet to amplify them. The lovely, safe certainty of the 1950s was over. After that, things were never the same. Less than a year later, the Gulf of Tonkin incident marked the beginning of the Vietnam war.
Posted on: Sun, 23 Nov 2014 07:57:32 +0000
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