i was leaving the cafeteria and heading to my locker to grab some books before heading off to my next class, science. i was standing, with my locker open, talking to a "locker neighbor", when some kid ran around the corner and said "they shot the president!" and continued running down the hall, past lockers and open doors. the halls were fairly empty, just a few slipping quickly into their classrooms.
my "neighbor" and i looked at each other and kind of laughed. we weren't even sure we had heard him correctly and, if we had, certainly he must be wrong or it was a stupid, sick joke.
the bell rang.
we had to go. we didn't want to be late.
my teacher, mr. ramisch, was sitting at his desk. he was a very big man, probably six-five. he very quietly asked us to take our seats. overall, it was very quiet as we waited for him to start the days lessons. one thing was different. the classroom television was on, tuned to what was obviously a news broadcast. walter cronkite was speaking giving details of what was known at the time coming out of dallas, texas.
"from dallas, texas, the flash apparently official: president kennedy died at 1 p.m., c.s.t......."
there were a few more words. he stopped, taking off his glasses, choking back tears.
mr. ramisch turned his chair, his back now towards us. you could see his shoulders shaking. i don't recall ever seeing an adult man cry, up to that point in my life.
we were all very quiet now, looking at one another in our young disbelief. the school intercom clicked on, buzzed for a second, then the announcement was made that school would be closing and we would be going home. going home early would normally be a happy thing, but not today. we sat at our desks until we saw the buses pulling up, then went to our lockers for our jackets and whatever books we decided to take home and filed out of school toward the idling buses. normally there would be running and jostling, but this wasn't something normal, so no running, no calling out to friends, just a fairly silent stream of kids going to, and getting on, their respective buses. parents, in their cars, lined up to pick up those who didn't take a bus, and some who lived close enough created small bunches of kids, huddling together and walking off to their homes. no one seemed to be running
the bus ride,too, was eerily quiet, some talking in low whispers. others, like myself, simply staring out the windows. other than that, it was a fairly typical ride home. the sporadic stops, kids getting off, but today simply waving or maybe a faint "goodbye" and then starting up again with that jerk that always rocked you in your seat.
finally, i got to my stop, at the corner of lincoln and victoria. by that time, there weren't that many left on the bus. i got off. i don't even think i said goodbye to the driver, which was something i usually did on a normal day.
but this wasn't a normal day.
i started off walking, but by the time i was halfway to the house, i was running. and crying. i took the stairs two, three at a time, and by the time i got to the door, mother was there. i threw my arms around her and she wrapped me in hers. the tears were flooding out of me now, and all i can remember saying is
"why?"
over the next days, we all spent hours every day watching what they had on t.v. further reports from dallas. the arrival of air force one in washington. the lines of people on the street, waiting to pay their respects the president's body under the capitol dome. the lines of people filing past crying, holding one another. the widow and the children kneeling at the coffin, she, gently kissing the draped flag. then the cortege, the funeral, the thousands of crying people, most still in shock. the young son silently saluting the coffin of his father as it passed. and, everywhere....tears.
and, of course, the assassination of the presumed assassin. live. on television. i was sitting on the floor in the front room, making a paper banner. i think it was for shirley renchin. a reunion or something.
fifty years later and i still find it difficult to watch the zapruder film. i can't watch any of the countless repeats of the innumerable documentaries without choking up. that day, and those that followed were the beginning of the years of the loss of innocence for many of us. yet there would be more to come. martin. robert. even john lennon. and it continues to this day.
aurora.
newtown.
virginia tech.
tragic.
unexplainable.
unconscionable.
unbearable.
heart-breaking.
the loss of innocence, and the eternal question,
"why?"
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