I remember where I was on “that day” in 1963: in a classroom at Gilbert Elementary School in Garden Grove, CA.
In the middle of a lesson on a Friday morning, an adult came into the room and whispered something to Mrs. Holmes, our teacher. Mrs. Holmes turned on the TV that was mounted on a wall. We weren’t sure what was going on, as this was not a usual activity.
At first we were silent as we watched the news program. As the news sunk in, some of the kids started crying (especially a girl named Elena). Mrs. Holmes looked visibly shaken.
I don’t remember if we were sent home early that day or not, but when I got home, the whole neighborhood seemed quiet. Time seemed to have stopped to focus on one horrific moment.
My Mom (who voted for Nixon but seemed subdued) had moved our TV from the living room to the kitchen table. It was one of those black-and-white oval-shaped screen, sitting on a pedestal, rabbit ears with tin foil kind. The reception was grainy. The TV was on non-stop all weekend long. We watched LBJ being sworn in as the President with Mrs. Kennedy standing by his side.
Monday there was no school as it was the day of JFK’s historic funeral procession and John Jr.’s memorable salute to his father.
I was too young to feel bad for America (other than I thought replacing the classy Kennedys with the hillbilly Johnsons in the White House was a cryin’ shame). I remember feeling sad for the President’s wife and kids. Where would they live now?
The previous year my family had been living in Palm Desert, CA (as part of our “banishment to the desert” phase of our lives that I’ve mentioned in a few blogs…). President and Mrs. Kennedy had attended the Catholic Church there. That was a VERY BIG DEAL.
My Dad said (not too long ago) that it was a poorly attended event. (He has always hated the “lousy Democrats.”)
Less than five years later in June 1968, Robert F. Kennedy made a campaign stop at the Strawberry Festival in Garden Grove. I ran around the fair and collected as many flyers as I could (to save because I thought they would be a valuable piece of history some day. They later burned in a fire…).
A few days later RFK was gunned down in Los Angeles. That incident for me was THE END OF THE INNOCENCE. The loss of another American patriot (another brother from a nice family) who was serving his country sickened me. The violence terrified me.
That’s when I figured out there is a dark underbelly to the American existence.
I would like to go back to the “days of Camelot” when you didn’t have to lock your front door and walk your kids to the bus stop. When going to a Catholic Church wasn’t a scary proposition…
“Don’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment that was known as Camelot.” – Alan Jay Lerner
