Texas School Book Depository
Here.
This building.
Right here in Dallas, Texas.
This is where The Legal Genealogist‘s childhood ended.
There may not have been all that much remaining, that bleak day in November 1963.
I was, after all, a child who learned to curl up in a ball in an elementary school hallway, practicing what we would do when (not if) the bomb dropped.
I was a child who understood only too well the hushed tones of the adults and the shock on everyone’s face when the television showed us images of Russian missiles in Cuba.
But I stopped being a child altogether the day a gunman killed a President of the United States.
From this building.
Right here.
In Dallas, Texas.
I was in the seventh grade at Thomas Jefferson Junior High School in Edison, New Jersey, on Friday, the 22nd of November, 1963. Mr. Lutz was my science teacher. He was in front of the class that afternoon, when another science teacher — Mr. Thompson — came through the connecting hallway between the two lab rooms and pulled Mr. Lutz aside.
He came back in, and his face was ashen.
He didn’t say anything to us.
He didn’t have to.
We didn’t know what it was, but we all knew something was terribly wrong.
He tried to pick back up with the lesson, but a few minutes later the room intercom buzzed. Mr. Lutz picked up the receiver and stepped out into the hallway. When he came back in, his face was a color I’d never seen before. And his hands were shaking. He told us to sit quietly, and he stepped back into the connecting hallway.
We only had a few minutes until the end of that class period. We sat there, not knowing what was wrong.
Then the principal’s voice came over the school-wide announcement system. We were told that the President had been shot, and that we were to change to our next class… in silence. There was to be no talking.
We gathered up our things and quietly moved to the next classroom. It wasn’t in complete silence, no. I remember whispering to classmates, asking whether there would be war — since we couldn’t imagine that a President could be shot on our soil by anything less than an act of war. I remember someone wondering in a whisper if the President would live. I remember teachers trying to hush even those whispers.
We sat in our next classroom for a short time, again in silence, before the announcement came again: “The President,” our principal said, “is dead.” And we were dismissed, early, to go home.
Home. Where all of us sat mesmerized for days in front of the television, watching events play out that were unimaginable only hours earlier.
The death of a President.
The swearing in of his successor.
The suspect gunned down in the police station.
The state funeral.
The burial at Arlington Cemetery.
The end of Camelot.
And the end of childhood.
No more illusions of safety, if any were left by then.
No more illusions that adults could prevent the worst from happening, if any were left by then.
No more illusions at all.
I stopped being a child altogether that day in 1963.
That day when a President was gunned down in cold blood.
From this building.
Right here.
In Dallas, Texas.
The first thing that came to mind as I read this was how different I believe the reaction would be today in a classroom if a president was shot.
And what a sad commentary on the state of our country today…
This brought tears. You have vivid memories that match mine. I must have cared for my children during those days but all I remember is watching the television in shock.
The shock… we all felt that. To some extent, I hope we still do.
That was the start of reality TV, we drove to Washington to pay our respects.
My husband was in military. He was stationed at an outpost 7 km from the East German border. We were living with a German family. When I got home from walking, Omi told me our president had been killed.. I could feel their fear. “Will there be war?”
And they knew only too well what war might be like…
I feel I could map these sentences to my experience of being in 6th grade on September 11th 2001. It had exactly the same impact on me at that age and unfolded in a similar way. Thanks for sharing.
Those defining moments are felt by every generation. Some of us have lived through an awful lot of them…
Maybe geography had something to do with it (small town North Carolina), but my experience was much different from yours, Judy. I was in sixth grade, sitting in a chorus rehearsal for the upcoming Christmas pageant. There was a school-wide announcement that the President had been shot and killed. Afterwards, we continued our rehearsal, singing “Joy to the World.” I remember thinking how inappropriate that was. I don’t remember much else other than being glued to the TV for the funeral. I don’t remember any family discussions or school discussions. Life went on as usual.
Wow… I don’t know of anyone who thought life merely went on as usual.
In a small town in upstate NY, also in 6th grade, also in chorus rehearsal, but song “We Three Kings” — and a constant stream, boys and girls, to the rest rooms, there trying to help each other cope with the enormity what had happened, until the school busses arrived to take us home. I don’t recall ever being as thankful to get home, as that day — the only comfort in a world turned upside-down, in being together with family.
You expressed what I felt also. I remember asking my mother what would happen to the country. She was too shocked to give me an answer. The country survived and went on which is a testament to our system of government. But that day, as you say, Camelot ended. I really was captivated by Kennedy.
The governmental system, the strong Vice President, the commitment to continuity — all played a role in ensuring that the country survived.
I was in eighth grade and my experience was very similar to yours, Judy. I remember so well that we sat there in stunned silence wondering what would happen next.
Stunned silence — a good descriptor of what we all went through.
I was in 8th grade English. It was so unreal I don’t think any of us really understood what had happened.
I don’t think we really could understand very well.
I emotionally blocked this event from my world until a couple of weeks ago–when I watched the movie, “Parkland.” After studying WW I, WW II, Viet Nam, I decided I needed to understand more about the assassination. I am astonished at the handling of the autopsy and the subsequent investigation. For 50+ years, I believed that Oswald acted alone. Now I believe differently. Each of us must interpret the scant facts in his/her own way, but when I read about the hate directed towards President Kennedy in 1963, I fear that the same environment exists today. Thanks you for helping me share. It’s been to painful for far too long. I was at grade school. We were released early after a short school assembly to help us understand what had happened. The next years–the protests, the assassinations–are a blur. Yes, we truly ended our childhood on November 22, 1963. Recommend following books: Not in Your Lifetime, Mrs. Kennedy and Me, and Five Days in November. All excellent and non-partisan.
I also fear what we’re going through today — the divisiveness.
I was driving past the Commerce exit going to work, passing the exits for downtown Dallas. Police were everywhere, on the bridges, streets, etc. I was working on a home about 5 miles away. At noon, the lady who owned the home rushed in to tell us the President had been shot. All work ceased and we gathered around her TV. Quit work at 4pm and headed home, drove thru downtown Dallas. Wished I had taken the freeway on around. People on the streets crying, grown men with tears rolling down their cheeks. We were a nation in anguish. In the words of Lincoln “In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares”.
A nation in anguish indeed, cousin Stan.
Even here in Australia, there was a sense of disbelief that this had happened. I was in 3rd class and still understood that is was very bad. That was and is our, ‘where were you when Kennedy was shot?’ I suppose for our children is was 9/11
Every generation has its defining moment, Lilian: we “old folks” just have a few more of them.
I lived in Washington, D.C., but I missed it all! I had boarded the SS France in LeHavre to sail home after 3 months in Europe. We stopped in Southampton to pick up English passengers, when the announcement came over the loud speaker system. The French cancelled everything, as they adored the Kennedys. A couple of days later, they announced that the killer of Kennedy had been killed. We Americans were in limbo, as we had no more information. To this day, I won’t even take a short cruise on a ship!
I love your blog!! But I must tell you my dad was in the Air Force and we lived on a SAC base from 1959 to 1963, and my friends and I never thought the bomb was going to be dropped on us any day, not even during the Cuban Missile Crisis when we could hear the bombers taking off and landing 24/7 as most of them were kept in the air at all times. Those of us old enough to be bussed off-base to the nearest junior and senior high schools — I was in the 7th grade — did notice that the civilians were a lot more worried than we were. And at the school on the base, we never had any of those silly duck and cover exercises, either.
I was in the 6th grade in Valdosta, GA. I was in my Home Economics class. We heard a student running down the hall toward our classroom. She was screaming. The teacher stepped out into the hall to find out what was happening. I heard the girl say that the President had been killed. We were all shocked. Then there was an announcement that school was out and that we should all go home. I rode my bike home and watched endless hours of television coverage. I was stunned. Nothing like this had happened before in my lifetime. Now, so many years later, there have been several events that shocked the world, all seen on television in real time. None of these events though were as shocking and tragic as the murder of John Kennedy. This was an event that I will never forget. It was Life Changing.
I was only six years old, and I thought it happened in our little Kentucky town. I remember the days of television coverage and the Kennedy children during the funeral. I believe my political cynicism has been formed by all of the assasinations during my childhood.
I was a Senior at Oklahoma City University when the news spread on the campus that President Kennedy had been shot. All of us between classes went to the Student Union where the closest TV was in an open seating area and stayed there in shock until one by one, we needed to leave that sad and upsetting place where we hpoed for better news, but it was not forthcoming.
The day when President Kennedy was killed was the first day I got my first eyeglasses, so I wasn’t in school at the time. The doctors waiting room was silent, and so was the optometrist’s office. Everything seemed normal.
We watched the news in the evening, and I remember watching Walter Cronkite wipe away tears.
When I was a child, my dad was the superintendent in a small district in Dallas County. In the summer, he he to make sure text books were returned to the School Book Depository. I would help pack them up sometimes.
In 1963, my husband and I lived in Houston. We were expecting our son to arrive in 6 weeks. We had no TV, so I heard the news on the radio. It was still shocking and incredibly sad that our president could be assassinated in my hometown. Lately, I have seen some of the programs on TV, With no TV much was new to my eyes. One of the saddest days in my lifetime.
I was in elementary school. They must have let us out when the news first broke about the President being shot. I vividly remember hearing the news over the car radio, as I was being picked up from school. We were still in the driveway in front of the school building.
I was at recess in the 4th grade – when we returned to the classroom and given the news I thought they meant the principal of the school had been shot. Why would someone want to shoot him?
Like you, I had the opportunity to spend time in Dallas and felt the eeriness as I walaked through the area. Sure brought all of the memories rushing back.
This is the most affective post you have written.
As for my experience, I was walking home from high school in (near) Boston with some friends when a maniacal and disheveled woman ran out of her house to scream at us that the president had been shot and then, flailing her arms in the air, dashed back inside. We didn’t believe her because her deportment convinced us she was a loony. As we walked farther, more and more people, crying and fearful, came from their homes to tell us the news. We were shaken and scared. My mother was sobbing when I got home.
The next day, Saturday, we drove to Maine where nearly all my cousins lived. We often went down Maine and always stayed at the home of my maternal grandfather because he had a large house to accommodate our family of six. The house would be challenged, though, by the extended family who would join us Sunday for dinner after church.
We all feared a war with the Soviets, so I was especially interested in hearing the thoughts from an uncle who had worked on the Manhattan Project that developed the atom bombs dropped on Japan.
My grandfather and I got up early Sunday to start cooking the turkeys. Grampy turned on the gas stove. Then, standing next to the stove, he lit a kitchen match, cracked open the oven door and tried to slam it shut when BOOM!
The oven door flew open and belched a large fireball. Pots on the stove leapt into the air and miscellany flew from the walls and cupboards to crash upon the floor. That was the only time I laughed that weekend. My parents and sisters came running, convinced it was an enemy bomb, making me laugh so much that I stumbled backward and fell onto the floor of the opened pantry. After calming everyone, my grandfather explained that the pilot light was not working and he had been lighting the gas stove with a match but his trepidations that morning had caused him to delay the toss of the match. Hearing that, my mother became even more disquieted knowing that her father could have blown up himself, maybe the entire house. My father promised to fix the pilot light before we drove home. By then I had stopped laughing but I could not move for several minutes, my muscles being paralyzed, and so I lay unnoticed upon a pile of boxes and cans.
In the afternoon, I escaped the katzenjammer throughout the house by retreating to the front parlor. I turned on the television with the almost-round picture tube, and sat, absorbing every word. I was mesmerized when Oswald appeared, escorted by the police, and shocked when Jack Ruby shot him. I had never seen anyone shot for real. I slumped forward, conscious but unable to run and relay the news.
This paralysis was nothing new. I always became paralyzed when falling asleep or after waking. I assumed everyone did. Ever since puberty, almost any startle, excitement, or strong emotion briefly turned my bones to jelly. I couldn’t fish anymore because whenever I got a nibble, I dropped the rod in the water. My mother said I was the only person who could fall UP the stairs when I rushed. I always dismissed it as clumsiness. That weekend was the first of many times I would become paralyzed for up to 20 minutes.
It took 35 years to get a diagnosis of severe narcolepsy with cataplexy, et al.
Powerful words, Judy. I was a few days away from turning 4 years old. I have always felt it was my first memory. Not the event itself, or the specifics of it. Not at that age. What I remember, it you can call it that, is the change of tenor when the family gathered around the TV. It was normally a time of joy and laughter, The Ed Sullivan Show, etc. Suddenly, the family was gathered around the TV, and there was no joy. I remember the silence.