Yesterday was, in a sense, a national holiday here in the US. Not an official one, by any means, nor was it commemorated widely. But to many of us who were alive on that foreboding afternoon of November 22nd, 1963 it still probably felt like a type of memorial day.
I remember vividly that afternoon. I had just started grade school, and at the time I loved going to school. I got along with all of my classmates, and it was fun learning to read, and life itself was a new adventure.
It was late that moderately grey morning that we were in class, and the school secretary walked in to the room. She was visibly upset about something. She said something to our teacher, Mrs. Shull, and then left. Mrs. Shull suddenly looked upset. Then she announced to the class that President Kennedy had been shot.
Immediately, school was dismissed. Many of us in the school bus, riding home early that day, knew something was haywire -- it was not normal news for the President to be shot. But back then politics weren't on the front burner amongst kids the way they are apparently placed there now. All we knew was that the big man in the White House was shot and his life was in danger. I don't recollect much more about the bus ride aside from that.
My mom at the time was a housewife, so she was already home. My dad worked at Boeing. He came home early.
As soon as dad was home we turned on the TV. We were glued to the coverage, which -- although not live in the sense of today's instant news cycle -- it was still actually live coverage via satellite, which was unusual back then. At first, they were talking about President Kennedy being taken to the hospital, and his being operated on by doctors. Things seemed hopeful.
About an hour or so later came the final announcement: President Kennedy was dead.
It was the first time in my life that I felt this clearly palpable emotion of severe loss -- that I had absolutely no control over the destiny of a person close to me, or someone I looked up to.
My dad and mom were nearly in tears. It was the first time I felt that sock in the gut that one gets if a death occurs to a close person, or someone in the family. I realise that to many of my readers, this may seem unbelievable, as the President is just a politician, albeit a powerful one. But this death was palpable to many Americans -- JFK was more than just a politician to us. He was someone we looked up to.
And it was especially so to a second grade kid who had not previously experienced serious loss.
See, President Kennedy was more than a President. He was a hero in a sense. He was the big guy, the guy who ran the country. My family revered him. My great-aunt used to pride herself in combing my hair so that it would look "just like President Kennedy". Looking back at pictures of me when I was a kid, she was right -- it did look like his hair at the time.
It may have been because my grandma and great-aunt, both of whom were elderly, were Catholics, and a lot of Catholics looked up to President Kennedy because he was the first Catholic president. Or it may have been because they voted for him. But there is no doubt that John F. Kennedy had charisma, and that he was well liked by many.
Besides, he had two little kids, who at the time were my age, and they were all such a happy looking family. The news outlets of the day -- which were less openly biased than they are now -- didn't call the White House "Camelot" for nothing.
It is somewhat ironic that within four months of JFK's death, the Beatles appeared in America, their happy, bouncy, exciting music almost being a medicine for the depression. Obviously, their music couldn't cure all the ills.
All that seems distant now, but every November 22nd, I still remember. The photograph at the top of this article was a jar-candle, which I had set atop my mailbox post as a sort of memorial the evening of November 22nd, probably in 2013 or 2014. At the time I had lost a calico cat, from old age. It was a horrible time emotionally as it was.
RIP PUDGE THE CAT
This November, I lost another cat. I don't want to go into any of the details, but it hasn't been an easy time.
I can't put out the jar-candle anymore, in my cat's memory, or JFK's, for that matter -- I am not sure where the jar went, and there no longer is a post to place it on, as the mailbox was run over by a truck about a year after I had placed the jar-candle on it. This blog post will have to suffice, I guess.
November is turning into a blah month. Here in Seattle it is raining, as it has been doing all month long. Coronavirus is kicking in again, causing people to cancel one of our major holidays, Thanksgiving. It also looks like Christmas will be cancelled, as well as New Year's.
I keep up my own thoughts by writing, and playing slide guitar. It is my own form of maintaining sanity. I realise that I have no control over a lot of things -- just as the second grade version of me could not keep President Kennedy alive, I can not keep a cat alive, or stop a virus so that life can go back to 'normal', whatever that really is. There are certain things that are beyond our control. Who needs holidays, anyway? In the big picture, it's just another day.
With this, I'll close this note and post it. I have another post I wrote up on the 11th that will be posted here as soon as I work up a couple photographs for it, which are all it really needed to finish it.
Until then, Peace to all, and stay safe.
C.C. 11-23-2020
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