John Fitzgerald Kennedy
I was reminded today that yesterday was the 59th anniversary of the assassination of President John Kennedy. I was 14. I was in Latin class in Milford Junior High in NH when the teacher, Mr. Badalatto, came in. He was late, so of course we’d begun to horse around. He placed his brief case on his desk and told us to “Shut the f**k up.” Nobody, especially teachers, used language like that back in 1963, so we were stunned into immediate silence. You could have heard a pin drop. Then he told us that President Kennedy had just been murdered. He was crying.
Back then we had 3 channels on our black and white television. NBC, ABC, and CBS. They came on early in the morning. I’m guessing around 5 or 6 and shut down late at night, maybe around 11. For three or four days there was nothing at all but newsreel of the assassination. I remember being sad, and bored. Nothing fun on television. The weather was as grey as the mood of the nation and of the television, so playing outside on the farm didn’t cut it. The entire country was sad and crying and shaken and in mourning. When Walter Cronkite reported the news of Kennedy’s death, he got emotional. When he got himself back together he apologized for being un-professional. That’s a decorum in news reporting to be missed.
I had no idea what the difference in the parties might have been back then. But Americans came together to cry, to mourn, to be indescribably sad, to be stunned, and to be Americans. To set aside the turmoil of Civil Rights and the drama of the start of the confusion and descension of the war in a faraway place that no one had heard of or could place on a map. A place called Vietnam. Little did I know that in 1970 and 71 that I’d know exactly where Vietnam was. It was under my combat boots.
There was no glee. No joy. No celebration of JFK’s murder. We heard rumors of people in Texas cheering. But that was just rumor.
I can’t help but wonder 59 years and 1 day later how the country would react to the announcement of the murder of Joe Biden, or Donald Trump, or Barack Obama, or George Bush, or Bill Clinton, or George H.W. Bush. I don’t even know how I would react. Back before it became illegal to advertise cigarettes on television, Virginia Slims brand, which must have been targeting women, had a jingle. “You’ve come a long way, baby.”
As I reflect back on my 73 years I realize there has always been turmoil. But I wonder if there is anything, anything at all that could bring us together the way we came together for a short while in November, 1963.
We’ve come a long way, baby.