It was late in the school day, wasn’t it?, on that November Friday 50 years ago, when we heard an announcement that shocked all of us and reverberates in many of us still. The President–that relatively young man, that Catholic, that Massachusetts man, that husband and father–had been shot in Dallas and was dead.
The photo of JFK from the 1964 PantherPix, dedicated to the memories of him and Pope John XXIII
Once we were out of school, then began days of grief and of watching television. The constant eye of TV was part of how we expressed and experienced that grief and anxiety. We didn’t know then that the rest of the Sixties would bring us more killings, at home and across the Pacific, in Vietnam. That this killing would somehow mark the beginning of years of strife, death, protests, and more.
On that Friday, all sorts of things, including after-school activities, were canceled. That weekend, the focus was on Dallas and Washington and many people stayed home to watch the President’s body brought to the White House, then the Capitol, then to Arlington National Cemetery in a three-day state funeral, ending that Monday.
What do you remember of that day? That weekend? Did you see the killing of Lee Harvey Oswald live on television?
I recall being in Fr. Thrasher’s physics class when someone came to the door. He went to the hall, returned and, with an ashen face, told us to return to our home rooms. It was a long walk from the science wing to my home room and I recall nuns in tears in the halls and other kids walking as in a trance as the news spread of the President’s death. Fast forward to Sunday morning. I sat eating breakfast with the TV on (didn’t we all have it on all weekend?) as I saw Oswald shot by Jack Ruby as millions watched. Again, shock, what would happen next?
Bob,
I had a minute today to look at the website I became aware of a while back. As I read the description of that day in 1963, I went back in my mind to Father Thrasher’s class and then read your recollection. While I was not eating breakfast, I was sitting with my mother in the living room watching Lee Harvey Oswald walking through the police station as he was shot by Jack Ruby. Issues that marked us all, weren’t they?
Nice to see your name on all of this!
Hope you are well-
My best,
Ed
Davis, California
Bob, weren’t you preparing to perform in the first CHS opera around that time?
Mick
It was in July of 1956 that I first became interested in John Kennedy as a 10-year-old. I remember the excitement of watching the Democratic Convention in Chicago, when Kennedy was seeking the vice presidential nomination.
I remember meeting the then-Senator John F. Kennedy at the American Legion Post 430 up on Hungry Hill, the Sunday before the 1958 election. There was a large rally hosted by Congressman Edward Boland for Kennedy’s reelection campaign.
In 1960, as a student at Cathedral, I volunteered on Saturdays at the Kennedy For President headquarters on Main Street in Springfield. My job was to sell as many Kennedy for President campaign buttons (for $1) to people shopping on Main Street.
On the Sunday night before the presidential election, a large group of kids and adults spent the night decorating Liberty Street in the Hungry Hill neighborhood. Delivering Kennedy for President signs to all the stores, apartments and homes on Liberty Street, for people to put in their windows. A large banner was hung across Liberty Street at “Bottle Park,” welcoming Jack Kennedy to Hungry Hill.
Kennedy was arriving at Westover and his caravan would pass right through the heart of Hungry Hill, on its way to Court Square and a huge rally held the day before the election.
Many of us skipped school to go down to Court Square to see the rally.
On election days, I stood at the Liberty Methodist Church, which was a large voting precinct on Hungry Hill, and passed out “Vote For Kennedy” pamphlets.
The day after the election, with the vote totals between Kennedy and Nixon very close, the nuns, priest and students waited anxiously for the announcement that Kennedy had won.
All the televisions in the Cathedral Library were tuned in when the announcement was finally made that Kennedy had won. Kennedy then appeared on the television screen and made a short speech from Cape Cod.
On November 22, 1963, I was sitting in a class when all of a sudden the intercom system came on. For a short time there was no one speaking, just the crackling of the intercom system. Then Monsignor Tim Leary, Director of Cathedral, announced that President Kennedy had been shot. Monsignor Leary led the entire school in the rosary. Just as we finished the rosary, he then announced that President Kennedy had died.
Many students were in shock and cried. Class was then dismissed and we were all sent home.
Starting with our freshman Year in 1960 to the beginning of our senior Year in 1963 were the Kennedy years.
Those 1000 days were exciting and at times fearful.
The death of President Kennedy had a profound affect on my generation. The world changed and, as has been written, “we lost our innocence.”
Mitch Ogulewicz
Former Springfield City Councilor
304 Tineke Way
Travelers Rest, South Carolina 29690
864-423-7848
If nothing else, our generation has had its share of “touchstones,” and the death of the President was the first of three hard-carved hard niches into my psyche – emphasizing a loss of hope, innocence and trust.
President Kennedy’s assassination was the first, striking like a punch to the solar plexus; worse, as pulled with broken breath, was a feeling that hope had been yanked from the lungs, even if we couldn’t discern its meaning at the time.
The next loss, innocence, experienced as a Marine, not only for time in Vietnam, but for the surreal numbness recalled while holding back rioters in D.C., as flames back-lit the Capitol building, following Dr. King’s assassination. Hard times for young men of progressive spirits and Catholic faith!
Last, a loss of trust, as the Presidency broke down under the pressure of falsehoods, and some of us wondered if 30-days in the brig might be preferable to standing in an Honor Guard for a re-elected President, for whom we’d lost all respect.
Taken alone, each event is little more than bits of history. Their accumulated weight, however, certainly sobered a mind or two.
Steinbeck, describing two characters in Cannery Row, wrote of one whose mind was empty as a museum, and another, whose mind knew no horizons.
Up till 11/22/63, I certainly fit the description of the former. Hopefully, the years following have brought me closer to the latter.
Despite the “touchstones,” described above, one nugget remains from those “Camelot” days – if severely tested, daily. Idealism. 🙂
I always remembered what I was doing that day. It was the last period of the day and I along with another student was manning the switchboard. We took the incoming call and also calls from others as the news spread. What a horrible day!