In 1963 I was in my junior year at Auburn and a midshipman in the Naval ROTC. On that fateful day I was in a Naval ROTC class when the door opened and the senior chief petty officer of the detachment burst in. Before he said anything, we all knew something terrible had happened. This salty old chief had tears streaming down his face. He blurted out that President Kennedy had just been killed in Dallas. As we sat there in shock, he then reminded us that this week it was the Naval ROTC’s turn to raise and lower the US flag by Samford Hall. He asked for volunteers to go with him to put the flag at half-mast in mourning. As one, the entire class stood to their feet. He picked two other midshipmen and they left. The officer then dismissed all the rest of us. Some of my friends and I ran to the Student Union building to get to a TV where we stayed glued to the set while the news ran thru the events over and over. I learned that day and over the course the next few, that no one is indispensible as I watched LBJ being sworn in at the front of Air Force One while JFK’s casket was being loaded in the rear of the plane. Coincidentally my son was born on November 22, 1970, so I always have two memories of that day. Steve Marcereau Silas I was sure that the world as we knew it was never going to be the same after that. Folks who before kept their front doors unlocked were now making sure that they were locked. Everyone was scared. It’s hard to believe that 50 years have passed since this tragedy. Tom Davis Dozier
On Friday the 22nd, I was sitting in class at the Washington School for Secretaries on F Street in the National Press Building. At 1:30 p.m. EST one of the teachers came to our class with the announcement that the president had been shot. This came over the ticker-tape machines in an Associated Press office on the upper level of our building. Within a few minutes another person came to the class to tell us he had died. Of course, we were all sent home for the day. I was only about two blocks from the White House but did not have the presence of mind to walk over there. All I could think of was walking to the bus stop and getting home. It was a very warm day in DC for the end of November. The shopkeepers in the smaller shops along F Street had opened the doors to their shops and had placed small black and white TVs or small radios in their display windows. Some people were gathering around to listen to the latest news. In the streets not many were talking. It was an eerie sight. When I finally got onto a bus to take me to the suburbs, people were either not talking or speaking in hushed tones. At home I did not want anything to eat. I remember tears in my eyes and being glued to our black and white TV. Saturday, Sunday and then the funeral on Monday – all my memories were of black and white images on the television. It was so strange to watch such a sad event and know that it was happening about 25 miles from where I lived. The next day was Tuesday, Nov. 26. When I got in my first class, I noticed that the daily wall calendar still had the date of the 22nd. I pulled it off and saved it, took it home and started making a scrapbook of the events. The cover was black and glued to the front was the square piece of black and white calendar that had the number 22 on it. It was almost as if our world had changed in those five days and not any of us were the same again. Sue Newell Arab
My mother’s excitement of watching the motorcade in Dallas was the one thing I remember the most about that dreadful day. She passed that excitement to a five-year-old little girl who was more fascinated with the black and white TV screen in front of her than what was to take place. Although I could not fathom the impact of the scene that played out before me, I knew by my mother’s gasp and her hand clamped over her mouth that something terrible had happened. When my questions started pouring out of my mouth, her response, “Hush child, something awful has just happened,” wasn’t just a warning to me, but it sent a cold chill through me. She turned the volume on the TV up louder and adjusted the rabbit ear antenna on top to get a clearer picture, but nothing she did could undo what had just happened. My family and I watched with sadness as the little boy named John and the little girl named Caroline said goodbye to their father. That year on Nov. 27 my mother bought two birthday cards, one for me and one for Caroline. Although a year younger, I was born on Caroline’s birthday. Each year I think of her and wonder if she ever received the card I sent with the innocent message my mother wrote, “I’m sorry your Daddy died and I know you miss him. We all loved him. Happy birthday.” Sonya Walls Knowles Dothan 12 NOVEMBER 2013
www.alabamaliving.coop