ON THAT DAY

If I was to ask most people I meet on the street here in Lake Havasu City, what were they doing on November 22, 1963, the majority would say, “I wasn’t born yet!”

For us old-timers, the answer would be different. I was living in Lubbock, Texas, the day President John F. Kennedy was shot and killed. Like the terrorist attack destroying the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, it was an event never to be forgotten.

I was a fourth grader at Reese Elementary School, sitting just outside the main gate to Reese Air Force Base where my father was stationed. We’d just moved to Texas in 1963, finding the weather there much different than Selma, Alabama.

Vintage photos, along with some 8mm movies taken by Mom, showed it was blustery cold that month, with thick hoar-frost covering trees. Dad’s black 1951 Chevrolet had its fair share of ice, with another segment of film showing him scraping the windows clean.

My brother, Jim, and I are in one such movie with coats on, standing outside playing with our Duncan brand spinning tops. They were very popular back then, especially the ones that whistled while spinning.

We became quite good at twirling the toys, having a small concrete patio outside our front mobile home door to practice on. Both of us mastered yo-yos as well, with Jim able to “walk the dog” with his.

This was a clever trick where the yo-yo rolled freely on floor or concrete while you strolled along behind it holding the string. The string had to be lightly tied to the yo-yo center dowel to pull this off. It took skill to do this trick, and unfortunately, as hard as I tried, I never quite mastered the feat.

Flubber balls had also came out sometime during this period, made popular by the Walt Disney movie, “The Absent-Minded Professor”, starring actor Fred MacMurray. I had one of these balls until it exploded in a dozen different pieces. Turned out they didn’t hold up so well when used outdoors in freezing weather.

Several kids brought them to school, tossing the super hard balls down the hallway until they were confiscated, deemed dangerous by some teachers. They probably would’ve knocked a person silly if hit in the head.

On that tragic November Friday, when President Kennedy was killed, we’d just returned from the school lunchroom and were sitting in our room ready for the next lesson. A teacher from another class suddenly came in, evidently telling Mrs. Hagan what happened. Both women left the room with our teacher quickly returning with a television set.

Stunned, we sat there and watched, not quite sure what was going on. When Walter Cronkite announced that the president was dead, through tears, Mrs. Hagan and Mr. Harper, the principal, dismissed us. The whole school was let out at that time. Being that I lived less than a mile away, it was no problem walking home. For the next several days my family watched events unfold on our home TV.

What I recall most about President Kennedy’s funeral was the Civil War era caisson with casket, and riderless black horse named “Black Jack,” as the procession slowly moved down Pennsylvania Avenue to Arlington Cemetery.

The mournful drum cadence never stopped during that whole time—as the mourners and military personnel traveled some three miles. I remember Dad saying that all of the military drums were covered in black fabric. With us owning a black & white television back then, I would’ve never known they were modified had he not said so.

The funeral took place on Monday, November 25. We returned to school on the 26^th.  I still remember these events just like it was yesterday. It seems some things in life are meant to never be forgotten. Sadly, President John Fitzgerald’s assassination taking place some 60 years ago is one of them.