A Fourth Grader Remembers

In the fall of 1963, I was a skinny, nine-year old kid, living in a very small country community northwest of the metroplex. My mother taught math for the school to the older kids while I and my brother were in the lower grades. Life had a rhythmic cadence of school, piano lessons, bike riding, and the Girls Auxillary weekly meetings in the Baptist church across the street. I was in love with the Beatles, while still tucking my prized Thumbelina babydoll in at night.

The afternoon of November 22nd found me taking a spelling test in Mrs. Waters' fourth grade class. She had been my third grade teacher as well, since every teacher was assigned two grades ( in the same classroom). I could hear the principal coming up the hall, stopping at each classroom and speaking. The message he was delivering - President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. I remember him turning his back to the class to tell Mrs. Waters in a quieter voice, that yes, the President was dead. We were dismissed early that day. I walked home with a good friend whose family was Catholic. Her mom was from Belgium, a lovely lady with a very different accent from the people I knew. She had the television on watching the news with a kleenex to dry her tears. Her fears were that a third world war could break out, that the Russians would bomb us. Although I didn't really comprehend how fragile and vunerable our country was at the time, I did think about the "Duck and Cover" drills we had at school to prepare for a nuclear holocaust. These drills were strange to me. No one really explained what the heck they were for, other than a vague reference to a bomb. I could picture a mushroom cloud in my mind and my biggest fear was that of being separated from my mom should the Big One hit us. How would I find her? Somehow I thought we would be safe as long as we were in the school building. So, would we need to sleep there tonight? My friend's family were going "to town" to a special mass for the President, and I had to go home. Life didn't change much for me beyond that day's events. I do remember watching the funeral on television, and feeling very sorry for Caroline and little John. I suppose most people my age and older can remember what they were doing on November 22nd. My parents' generation was filled with worries of Hitler. Mine was destined to fear Russians, atomic war, and a government that no longer was trustyworthy.