— by Lin McNulty —
There are some unfortunate, startling events in life in which we remember exactly where we were when we heard the news. The JFK assassination is certainly one of those moments in my life. I have never before revealed my initial reaction; in retrospect, within a few minutes, that reaction would morph as the severity of the incident found its path into my consciousness. I had no previous experience on which to even begin to distill such information.
Let me back up just a bit. I was a senior at Lake Washington High School. One of my favorite teachers was Mr. Brazel, who taught American Government. He was a bit eccentric and radical, though probably liberal (now that I know the difference). He would often go off on rants about the Supreme Court (“12 old men strong and true,” I think he called them), or about our President, John F. Kennedy.
It was between classes, with my next class being American Government, as the hallway was buzzing, when someone came up to my locker to tell me “the President has been shot.” My first reaction was, and I said it out loud, “well, that should make Mr. Brazel happy.” Just like I will always remember that Friday and the weekend that followed, I will never forget those words that came out of my mouth. My sarcasm had developed at an early age.
As soon, however, as I walked in to Mr. Brazel’s classroom, the severity of the situation hit me as I saw him standing in front of the class in tears. My stomach began to churn.
As I recall, we learned during that class time that LBJ had taken the oath of office and was now President of the United States. Mr. Brazel pontificated on the miracle of America that we could experience such a tragedy and our system allowed for a smooth, even though terrifically emotional, transition in power.
I don’t remember the rest of that school day. Maybe we all got sent home early; I’m just not sure.
What I just now remembered is that I attended a Seattle Symphony concert that night during which they somberly played Dvorak’s powerful and dramatic New World Symphony in John F. Kennedy’s honor and memory. The remainder of the weekend was spent in tears, enraptured as events unfolded before our eyes on the television screen. I thought the violence, the tragedy, would never end.
It did end. And there have been additional violent tragedies in our country. But it was that one that taught me the most about how our country works. It was a huge jolt and a tough civics lesson learned quickly. After that, I had even more respect for Mr. Brazel, a more humanitarian connection to the wacky, yet somehow effective, teacher.
Tonight, I shall listen to Dvorak.
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Nicely described memory, Lin.
Your article dredged up a memory of my reaction to a later assassination that makes me cringe even today. When Robert Kennedy was shot a few years later I was 16 years old and had been campaigning — hard — for Eugene McCarthy. Upon hearing the news of Bobby’s death, I ran to tell my mother and father the “good” news.
My parent’s response could not have been more effective had they slapped me. I don’t remember their exact words but the gist was this was not ANYTHING to be remotely pleased about no matter what I thought of Robert Kennedy. It was a true tragedy that superseded all politics … and, on the heels of the assassinations of Martin Luther King and JFK, an event that threatened our democracy further.
We had a long, chilling conversation that evening, one that left me chastened and made me regret my youthful impulsive reaction. I hope that I been able to hold on to some of what I learned that night.
I remember that day all too well. I had just graduated high school and was working as an Executive Page at the Federal Reserve Bank in Lower New York. One of my duties was to pick up the messages from the ticker-tape machine and bring them up to the Executive floor. Always curious, I would scan the messages to see if anything new or interesting was coming over the wires. My eyes bulged when I saw the words – President shot – on the narrow sheet of paper. My brain was numb, I couldn’t think, all I could do was race back upstairs carrying the sacred news. I couldn’t wait for the elevator so I ran up the three flights of stairs and, without a word, handed it to Ms. Blodgett who supervised the Pages. She took one look at it and directed me to the President’s office down the hall. Nobody spoke, not a word said, just shock and confusion. I carried that message as if it were the Holy Grail. It felt like I had the most important news in my hands and I was the only one who knew it…at least at that moment in theose auspicious surroundings. I wasn’t political then, but I loved Kennedy none-the-less. I wonder what direction we might have taken, what road America might have traveled if Kennedy used the bubble top that day. What might have changed if Kennedy lived. I guess we’ll never know. Fifty years – Wow, have I changed.