Beanery Online Literary Magazine

November 21, 2010

Where Were You When JFK was Assassinated?

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN JFK WAS ASSASSINATED?

Beanery Writers Group Authors

The following are responses to a prompt from our last meeting. Readers are invited to submit their own experiences from Nov. 22, 1963, the day that John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Type your response in the comment box at the end of this post.

  JAN

     It was one of those things, that when you first hear it — you can’t believe it.

     While attending nursing school, I also worked at a sewing factory. Of course, when it was announced by the manager — all work ceased for the day.

     Many people were crying, others were just in shock.

     I immediately thought about his young children. Afterward, I thought of the way he was cut down, about the unfairness of losing such a young, charismatic President. I wondered how the country would recover. Even after seeing it over and over on TV it still seemed unreal.

     It certainly changed the security factor of riding around in a convertible—had the threat been more apparent, armored cars would have been used…………

DMITRI

     I was walking through the school hall. It must have had some impact because I remember what I was doing. I also remember what I was doing before and after .

     Perhaps I recall because amidst the news flying about the media had to announce the scores of different team sports.

     I also recall that the telephoto lens made distant objects on the television  look bigger.

WALTER

     On the day of Kennedy’s assassination I was building Norwin High School. It had three and a half million brick.

     I said to my co-worker Did you hear they shot John Kennedy?

     “Good,” he said. “The bastard deserved it.”

     This stuck in my mind until today. It’s hard to envision how much hatred my co-worker had in his heart. Walter

LYNETTE

It was the end of the school day. I was in the third grade and we were just being dismissed from the Cathedral Catholic School in Greensburg. Before we got out the door the nuns called us back in. after we returned to our classroom  We were told we should pray because the President had been shot. We said a prayer. I remember my aunt, who lived with us, liked to watch daytime television shows. Her birthday was Friday, November 22, the day J. F. K. That day she might have missed her afternoon daytime television programs, but the next week she did miss them.

DIANE

     I was in the girl’s room. One of my classmates ran in just as I was opening the door. Eileen’s father was a mailman and came to the school with the news.
     I remember how odd it was, the atmosphere. All the students in Locust Grove Elementary were sent to the cafeteria to wait for buses. It was an odd grouping of students because we were separated by bus not class. The older ones spoke softly and we just listened.
     When I arrived home, I sat at the dining room table and wrote a poem for JFK, John.
     My father carried that poem in his wallet proudly for years

MELANIE

     I was a baby in a crib, exactly sixteen months old that day.

    My mother told me that she had put me in the crib for a nap before going to watch a television probram. While watching, the story broke that the president had been shot.

CAROLYN

     I was working at Doctor’s Hospital in Columbus Ohio, in the pathology dept. when I heard the news…click on Where Were You When John F. Kennedy was Assassinated? to continue reading…

Don’t forget—add your experience to this post by typing it in the comment box below. 

ADDITIONAL READING:

THOUGHTS ON PEACE

LOSS AND LOVE

TIME TO GO

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1 Comment »

  1. I was in the girl’s room. One of my classmates ran in just as I was opening the door. Eileen’s father was a mailman and came to the school with the news.

    I remember how odd it was, the atmosphere. All the students in Locust Grove Elementary were sent to the cafeteria to wait for buses. It was an odd grouping of students because we were separated by bus not class. The older ones spoke softly and we just listened.

    When I arrived home, I sat at the dining room table and wrote a poem for John John.

    My father carried that poem in his wallet proudly for years.

    Comment by Diane Cipa — November 22, 2010 @ 5:38 pm | Reply


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