I'll never forget Friday, November 22, 1963. I was twelve years old, and in the seventh grade at South Pasadena Junior High in South Pasadena, California. It was 4th period, just before lunch, and we were on the girl's gym field playing field hockey. As the class ended, and we lined up to cross the street and go back to the gym to change, there was a flurry of activity. Someone had come to our gym teacher to tell her that the President had been shot. Most of our response was of disbelief... no one actually thought that it was true. Must be rumors. My parents were not Kennedy supporters, they had voted for Richard Nixon for President in 1960, and many of my classmates' families were also not Kennedy fans, so my immediate reaction was more curiosity and disbelief than grief. But during lunch, and as the afternoon progressed, regular updates came via television sets that were set up in our classrooms. Shortly it was announced that President Kennedy was dead. There was no denying that this was a very tragic event, and as we trooped sadly home, and began the 3 day television news marathon, led by Walter Chronkite, it became apparent exactly what this meant for our country. Literally, we watched tv for days. Schools were closed on Monday for the funeral, and the broadcasts were non-stop. There was nothing on any of the stations except coverage of the assassination. The events unfolded in a way never seen before: live coverage of a great tragedy. Sure, there had been films of other tragedies: the explosion of the Hindenberg, the attack on Pearl Harbor, footage of battles and trials and explosions. But these seemed to be like newsreels.... quick excerpts and segments, not real-time disaster footage that ran hour after hour after hour. Many of us actually witnessed the shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald, the assassin, by Jack Ruby, live on national tv. The funeral on Monday was heartbreaking. I remember so well the flag-draped coffin, and the caisson that carried it through the somber streets. The riderless horse, with the boots facing backwards left an indelible mark on my memory. The mournful drums and the funeral march played by a brass band, are sounds I will never forget. The sweetly sad image of little John Kennedy Jr, saluting his father's coffin, is one that will never be forgotten. In the days ahead, I turned that famous photo into my first 'professional' art job- I meticulously copied the photo into pencil drawings, and sold them for 75 cents to my friends.
I guess each generation has their tragedies. This was certainly one of ours, followed by the Vietnam War, the assassinations of Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King. The Kent State killings, Charles Manson, and many others. Sometimes I wonder how we as a people, would deal with these horrible events if they happened today instead of the 1960s. But then I remember September 11, 2001. All of these events are sad reminders of our times, yet, they can unite and strengthen people. We all grow stronger and more humble with these tragedies. We count our blessings- which, after all, is the whole reason for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. Let's take some time to remember those who gave their lives for our freedoms, and those whose heroism has made our lives a little better.
