My parents would talk occasionally about the WWII era and particularly about Pearl Harbor . I remember my grandfather telling about witnessing the hanging of an outlaw as a young child. Who would take a child to a hanging?? At any rate, even decades later, they could relay every detail of what it was like and the emotions they experienced.
One of my clear memory events was when I was in 4th grade. It was a sunny Friday in November. My teacher was Mrs. Wood. Even though I don’t have a perfectly clear memory of other grade school classes, I can recall every detail of this class on this day. I remember the classmates and where they sat. I remember the multiplication tables on the blackboard that we were learning. We had to get up in front of the class one by one with a yardstick, point to each as we recited the answer. I even remember what I was wearing that day. A wool plaid pleated skirt, yellow sweater, navy knee socks and brown penny loafers (with dimes in them).
She finally returned but Mrs. Wood didn't have her normal mean face. It was a sad face and I could tell she had been crying. Instead of her usual gruff loud voice, she quietly told us that school was going to be dismissed early and to gather our things because the buses would be arriving momentarily. Hands shot up to ask questions but she called on no one. She didn't even remind us about homework or anything as we filed out in a single line.
One notable thing about this period of time is that because of nuclear threats by the Soviet Union, schools conducted walkout drills, we had to wear dog tags and some people had fallout shelters. At the age of 9, I didn't really understand what that was all about, but I wondered if today’s early dismissal had something to do with that.
As we walked to the bus stop, no one was talking. Everyone had a puzzled look on their face, except for the ‘big kids’. The ‘big kids’ were the 7th and 8th graders. Some of the big girls were crying. When we got on the bus and were allowed to talk, the ‘big kids’ told us ‘little kids’ that President Kennedy had been assassinated. Assassinated was not a 4th grade word so I didn't know what they meant but my 9 year old imagination envisioned bombs and soldiers and guns. One of the‘big kids’ said that since we didn't have a president anymore, the Russians were going to bomb us. I don’t recall ever being as scared as I was on that bus ride home. I grabbed the dog tags around my neck and shoved them under my sweater. At least if the Russians bombed our bus, someone would be able to identify me and call my mom. My heart was racing, but I was determined to not cry like my girlfriends and I ran home as fast as I could after I got off that bus.
I was so happy to see my mom and dad and even my 4 year old little sister. They had left work early because of this horrible thing that had happened. Yes, our president had been killed (assassinated –a new word for me) and no, the Russians were not going to attack us. Of course, we were glued to the TV set for the next few days. Over and over we saw the same images.
I can’t even remember much about last week! So, it’s amazing that 50 years later I have such clear recall of that weekend in November of 1963. The details of my surroundings, the confusion and emotions I experienced. The things I learned. Young minds are fragile and impressionable. My mind’s slideshow includes the limo ride, the wave, the pink suit, the oath, the procession, the little boy salute.
Of course, there have been other tragic events leaving details in my memory bank. 9/11, The Challenger Disaster and Katrina to name a few. But, none left the lasting memory recall on that 9 year old little girl like the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.
2 comments:
Great recall. Good reflection also. Thanks for the story that now makes me reflect.
I remember that day also. I was wearing a new rust colored skirt and coordinating blouse I had bought with money my parents had sent me for meals at the University of Georgia. I was walking across the quadrangle to my dorm to eat my peanut butter sandwich in my room because I didn't have enough money for meals for the rest of the month. As I approached the numerous steps up to the entrance of the dorm, a friend burst through the doors crying and yelling that President Kennedy was dead. There was no consoling her as she kept running and screaming, so I made my sandwich and went down in the basement of the dorm to the TV room where everyone was glued to the TV to watch all the news for the next few days.
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