The following was written by my late wife Elaine. She wrote a long book, a diary really, from which this is one passage:
Assassination of President John F. Kennedy – Friday, November 22, 1963
The lady across the street knocked at the door, crying, to tell me to turn on the TV, that the President had been shot. About an hour later, Dave arrived home, quite distraught; government offices had closed and employees were sent home as soon as the news was broadcast. I remember he threw the day’s newspaper on the floor, from anger and shock, when he came in the door. And I remember saying something about the day feeling like Good Friday.
Our country was shocked and numb. Some neighbors quietly raked leaves as if to distract themselves from the black cloud over all of us. Maybe they were outside hoping to share their feelings about the day with neighbors.
Other people stayed inside, glued to their television.
Dave took Carolyn, almost 6 years old, with him to a church memorial service on the Sunday morning. We each mourned in our own ways.
Live coverage on television continued 24 hours a day, for three days. I don’t recall the people of this country, black and white, Democrat and Republican, young and old, ever united in a huge sadness and disbelief by anything, before or since, to equal this event.
All night, endless lines of mourning citizens slowly passed the coffin in the rotunda of the capitol building. Sometimes the only background sound to this scene other than the sound of the mourners’ feet was classical music. A performance of the slow movement of Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony was played on the radio today as I’m re-reading this in July 2001, and the PBS announcer said that this music was played over and over in the sad days following the assassination. It is sombre, and stirring.
While I’m writing this, it’s been 37 years, and those three days still come up clear in our memories and conversations. I saved all the newspapers and magazines I could find about the assassination, and they’re on the right-side bookshelves in the big room.
To be continued…
***
About the Author: RD Blakeslee is a nonagenarian in West Virginia who built his net worth by only investing in that which can be enjoyed during acquisition and throughout life, as opposed to papers in a drawer, like stocks and bonds. You can read more about him here.
Photos: Courtesy of the Blakeslee Family
We were quite innocent, naïve really, in those days and the simple explanations were accepted.
Even now, seventy years later, our government keeps “classified” the contemporary record implicating the actual actors responsible for the assassination.
Thanks,
Dave (Deplorable White Toxic male)
I remember that day. Adults seemed to be beside themselves. They were scurrying to and fro but not doing anything.
Looking back, it’s like they thought the whole world rested on the shoulders of the president. If he wasn’t there, the world would spin out into space.
I don’t think you’re a “Deplorable White Toxic male”. I think you should change it to Dave (fruitcake eater and roller skater).
little did your wife know back in July 2001 what was to occur in 2 short months.