JFK

There were days during the worst of the AIDS epidemic when I walked home from the hospital wanting to see everyone on the streets weeping for the tragedy that was happening there. I wanted to see their world as impacted as mine. It was naïve, I know. But still, I wanted it.

Whenever the anniversary of JFK’s assassination comes around, I remember being 14 years old and watching the world change that day . . .

Grandma loved John F. Kennedy because he was the first Catholic president and the youngest too. She had a photo of him hanging in her house back in New York, and showed us the picture of him she carried in her purse.

I was in my 10^th grade Spanish class at North Miami High when we heard the principal’s voice come through the intercom system. It sounded like he was crying as he said President Kennedy had just been shot and we were all dismissed. Mrs. Nicholas, our Spanish teacher, started crying as well, and told us to gather our things.

“Go home to your families,” she said tearfully.

“Vaya con Dios!” she said, as we all shuffled out of the room.

It was mostly quiet on the school bus. We didn’t know what to say or do, though two boys in the back were telling jokes.

“What a waste of confetti,” one said.

“If he don’t make it, they’ll call him President Jack-in-the box,” said another.

When I got off the bus, I watched lots of kids walking quietly through the neighborhood. As I approached our house, I saw Grandpa on the front lawn. He’d been painting the front door and was holding a brush. As I came up to him, he started to say something and then began to cry.

We went into the house together.

Mom and grandma were in front of the television crying. My younger brothers and sisters were already home from school and we all sat, looking back and forth from the screen to the adults in the room who were all in tears. The announcer said the President had been shot while riding in a motorcade in Dallas Texas. His wife Jackie had tried to help him and now the limousine they were riding in was taking him to a local hospital.

People who saw what happened were being interviewed and lots of them were covering their faces and crying. There was a brief shot of Vice-President Johnson walking down a hallway and mom said he was going to become the temporary President until President Kennedy got back on his feet. Then she changed the channel, looking for Walter Cronkite, a newsman she really liked. He said everyone was waiting to hear news from the hospital and then he looked like he was crying as he said the president had just died.

Grandma asked if Walter Cronkite was a Catholic and mom said, ‘No, he’s Protestant.”

We stayed up late, watching tv for any news about the President or Jackie or their kids John and Caroline.

The following day there was no school. It was like the whole world had stopped. Grandma and grandpa wanted to take us down to St. James Church for a special mass that was being held, but mom didn’t make us go with them.

Then we heard that the man who shot the President had been arrested.

Mom was making sandwiches when she said, “Look, they’re bringing him out!”

We all crowded around the tv to see what he looked like. He was young and skinny and didn’t seem dangerous at all as they lead him down a corridor. There were lots of people standing around and then a man wearing a hat ran up and shot him right there, right in front of the cameras, right in front of everyone, right in front of us. Mom screamed and ran to turn the television off, but it was too late. We’d just seen somebody murdered.

Up to that day the tv was a place to watch Captain Kangaroo, Ed Sullivan and Walt Disney. Now it had become a place where you might see something really terrible happen.