When we were in grade school, the entire school was treated to a movie at the end of every six weeks grading period. This practice actually allowed teachers to work on averaging grades and filling out report cards. But, for the students, the six weeks movie was a real social event. So everyone benefited from the flick shown on an school projector that was prone to breaking film and causing those burnt projections so associated with with our 1960s 16mm education -- "lesson plans in a can."
Weeks before the movie, students were already planning who they might sit by, who they might hold hands with, and who might lead some mischief during the show. Girls were just starting to look as interesting as baseball, so with a bit of nervous anticipation. Holding hands, believe it or not, was a big deal then. In fact "I Want to Hold Your Hand" by the Beatles would soon be -- by the end of the school year -- one of the initial hits of the British Invasion and the best-selling single worldwide.
I wanted this six weeks movie in November to be a memorable event. But, being a boy, I let the girls do all the gossiping and planning as I kept on playing cool and hanging with my friends. The movies were standard fare Abbott and Costello or classic Westerns, etc. It really didn't matter as long as the afternoon was spent out of class in the dark, tiny gym. It was going to be great. I really don't remember what the film was -- most of us didn't care. (One of our favorite things of the time was to get the film projectionist to run the film backwards -- we thought the wild sound and backward movement was hilarious in our juvenile brains.)
This particular six weeks movie was shown and ended -- November 22, 1963
-- and as we filed back to homerooms to await dismissal, the building
was abuzz with seemingly unbelievable news: President Kennedy had been
shot in Dallas, Texas. I remember our teacher, Mr. Underwood, had a
radio and he turned it on to follow the tragic story. We sat stunned and
unbelieving as the rest of the afternoon went by.
Later that afternoon, President Kennedy died from his gunshot wounds. This radio announcement was so shocking. However, I can honestly say, as a 7th grader, I did not know the impact this day was to have on my life. You see, I was very foolish at the time. Our class had held a mock election at school in 1960, and many friends and I had supported Richard Nixon, who later lost the popular vote in the real election by 49.7 to 49.6 per cent.
As kids will be kids, we Nixon supporters (I can't believe I'm saying
that now.) had been sore about the loss, especially since our home state
of Ohio had gone to Nixon. I guess I was caught up in wearing campaign
buttons and having the student debate -- I remember those colorful details
well. It took a long time for many of us to face reality. How naive I was and how much has changed since then. I definitely have some regrets about my failure to appreciate the utmost gravity of that December afternoon at the time.
We
were spoiled Baby Boomers in small town Lucasville, Ohio -- so happy
and so isolated from any bad realities. Over the next few days, the tragedy sunk in. I began to understand that someone had
ripped our world apart. I felt guilty for not supporting JFK in our
cheesy school election. And, I was dazed and confused by the brutality of the
day -- none of seemed to make sense.
The death of a President and the further complication of Oswald's
killing by Ruby later that weekend became increasingly unimaginable. The
events played out like some fictional, scripted movie before our black-
and-white television eyes. I'll never forget seeing Ruby shoot Oswald on live television.
During the extended weekend, the
images of the President's funeral made us all weep for John F. Kennedy, his family, and what might have been. Then, I truly realized that my generation had
lost an icon and a friend. These events are now so permanently etched in
my mind that I periodically review them in a panorama of my memories
from the time. And, to be honest, I still don't understand how they continue to affect me and my view of the nation.
Times seemed so different then. I remember
during the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1961-1962 people frantically built
fallout shelters and schools showed films about what to do in case of a
nuclear attack. Our school even held a timed evacuation and practice run
home by buses in response to a staged missile attack. I can also
remember my dad explaining that World War III was likely to begin. But then, even
in the face of annihilation, I think I was more worried about what was
going on with my school buddies than about dying in a nuclear holocaust.
We were happy, happy in the sense that our friends were there with us and adults we trusted were reassuring us, "There is nothing to worry about." I'm sure the adults really didn't know the outcome, but they did their duty and calmed our fears.
Time
went on. High school days came and I loved every minute of them.
Vietnam was a half a world away and the Cold War had settled down. Here,
at home, classes were better, cars were better, girls were better, rock
music was better, and social events were better. Our concept of world events was blanketed by our involvement in daily life.
I laughed the
first day of high school and kept laughing with each new day. I didn't
want to miss school because I knew I would miss my friends. And summers!
I worked and almost lived at a nearby lake as a lifeguard. Twenty or
thirty dollars a week was a lot of money for a teen then. Life was
great. What's not to like -- swimming, girls in bikinis, cars, and
goofing off. Not to mention my introduction to beer.
It wasn't until April 4 of my junior year in high school that I again felt such stomach-churning emotion in reaction to a singular, chilling event. I had just pulled into the high school parking lot for class play practice when one of my classmates told us that she had just heard that Martin Luther King, Jr. had been assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. The 60s of my youth had somehow spurned uncontrollable violence once more.
I was certain the United States would explode overnight. Suddenly, the dangers of being drafted, worries about my dear friends, and thoughts of going to college overwhelmed me. Everything was upside down and I was being swept away by forces beyond my control, swept into a serious, dangerous world where teenagers could drown. It was the Kennedy assassination and the Cuban Missile Crisis deja vu.
Then,
I made a vow out of selfish motives. I knew I didn't have long, but my
senior year was just ahead, and I vowed to live it fully among the ones I
loved the most because the other, crazy world was waiting after
graduation day. Before I let it maul me, scar me, or harm me in any way,
I was going to have my finest days. I think I did. I know I cherish all
of my time with the Valley High Class of 1969. We parted great friends and remain so today ... minus those who have passed. At 70 years of age, I think I would do it all over again ... but this time with with a little more maturity and a lot more love.
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