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JFK and Jacky disembark in Dallas,
November 22, 1963 |
On the 30th anniversary of the assassination, I wrote my reminiscence of that terrible day. They are below. I first published these reminiscences on this blog in 2008. I am reprinting them for the 50th anniversary of that awful event.
November 22, 1993
Thirty years ago this morning, I was chasing a badminton bird in the men's gymnasium at San Jose City College, in San Jose, California, the rubber soles of my tennis shoes squeaking on the lacquered wooden floor. I was in my physical education class. Soon, the coach would blow his whistle and we would head for the showers.
It was Friday, and I was looking forward to the weekend and the short, three day week before Thanksgiving that would follow. After showering, I put on my narrow, striped tie. For some reason I had felt like dressing up on that day, and wore a brand new tie I had just bought, a rep (striped) tie. I bought it because it reminded me of the ties our young President John F. Kennedy wore. Friday, November 22, was the first time I had a chance to wear it.
It was eleven o'clock when I walked from the gym to the science building for my Chemistry lecture class. I say it was my "lecture" class, because Chemistry always involved two classes taken in tandem: lecture and laboratory. We were to have a lecture on organic chemistry this Friday morning, studying the molecular structure and chemical formulas of various hydrocarbons.
Just as I reached the door of the science building, a classmate from a previous semester approached me. He was a typical student of the day, his black hair cut in a flattop, the bristles of which were pomaded to stand straight up. "Hey," he called to me, "Did you hear that Kennedy has been shot?"
I froze in dread and disbelief. I knew this guy was a "goof-off," someone who was rarely serious and not in the habit of displaying good taste in his humor. I thought it was some kind of sick joke. "Yeah," he continued, "I heard two students talking. One said to the other, 'Did you hear that Kennedy's been shot?' Then his friend smiled and said, 'Isn't it GREAT?'" The fool then smiled big, showing his white teeth. I interpreted his smile to mean that he agreed with the sentiment that it would be great if someone had indeed shot the President of the United States.
I did not return his smile. I may have mumbled something about having to get to Chemistry, but I don't remember. I do remember thinking that if this were a joke, it was a very sick joke, indeed.
When I sat down in the classroom, other students were asking each other if the rumor was true. Then our teacher, a bespectacled blondish man of about fifty, emerged from his office and told the assembled class the news. "It's on the news. Kennedy was shot by a sniper in Dallas and the word from the State Department is that he's dead." We were stunned. My immediate emotion was one of burning hate for the student who had laughed about it in the corridor. I wanted to go find him and pummel his smiling face into pulp.
Then in an amazingly blatant display of bad taste and irreverence, the Chemistry teacher, who did not seem at all disheartened by this turn of events, told us to take out our notebooks. We were going to have lecture as planned, as there were many formulas to learn. That I even sat there for that hour numbly copying molecular structures off the blackboard still amazes me. But I was only nineteen. Today I would have risen out of my seat, said, "I for one do not feel like listening to a lecture in the aftermath of such a tragedy. I'm leaving, and I suggest all of you other students go with me."
My next class was Biblical Literature, which was held in the drama building. My teacher, whose name was Christian, was a portly gentleman with a goatee and a head shaved almost to peach fuzz. As the students sat down, he stood before us with wet eyes and a tear-stained face. I still remember what he said, three decades later: "In light of what's happened, I for one don’t really feel like discussing simile and metaphor, and I think the best thing to do is to just dismiss the class."
After Dr. Christian dismissed the class, I wandered around the campus until my Psychology class met. I believe the teacher's name was Dr. Blum. He too, made a few short remarks and told us that the college administration had decided to dismiss all further classes for the day. I wandered towards the parking lot in a kind of stupor, then sat down on a bench near the administration building beside a young woman student. I noticed that her face was also tear-stained and flushed with grief. She was listening to a newscast on a portable radio. Walter Cronkite was describing the awful events, finally concluding his newscast with a grave and somber remark: "President Kennedy is dead." The finality of that shocked me to my core, and I stood up and stumbled in the direction of my first car, a 1951 DeSoto, waves of grief and despair washing over me.
As I came in the door to our home on Foxworthy Avenue in San Jose, my father and mother were watching the televised newscast. My father asked me in a very serious voice, "Have you heard the news?"
"Yeah, I heard," I said, and walked past them. My father called after me, "It's pretty damned rotten when they have to bring the President home in a box!"
I went into my room and took off my "Kennedy tie." I put it away in a drawer. I never wore it again.
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