In honor of my impending half-century birthday I have decided to spend the next month writing about things that will seem strange and unknown to most of you - how life was growing up in the 60's and 70's. I would write about the 50's too but I was very young then and am unable to distinguish actual memories from things that I saw in Happy Days and Grease.
Because today November 22, 2008 is the 45th anniversary of President Kennedy's assassination I am going to start out with a cliche. I am on the tail end of baby boomers, but when I was growing up one question that came up frequently was, "Where were you when Kennedy was shot?" I was almost five at the time, but I actually remember it very clearly.
My grandfather (father's father) was in the hospital, dying of stomach cancer. My father was at the hospital. My mother and grandmother (mother's mother) were in the kitchen crying because they knew that the next time the phone rang it would be my dad calling to say that Zadie Max was gone. My baby sister was in her crib sleeping (most of my early memories include Ellie asleep in the other room). I knew that something was wrong with my grandfather, but didn't quite grasp what was going on.
I was watching WGN which is the station with all of the kids' shows (Bozo's Circus, Garfield Goose, Romper Room, etc). The tv started beeping and an announcer came on and said to stand by for a bulletin. Growing up in Illinois that meant only one thing to a little girl - a tornado was coming. I knew that I was supposed to go and tell my mother and grandmother. I walked into the kitchen and saw them looking so sad. I said that there was a tornado and they had to come and watch the tv. They looked at each other and at the same time said, "A tornado in November?" But they came with me anyway. They were just in time to hear the announcement that President Kennedy had been shot. They were already crying because of my grandfather and the crying just turned to total loss of control. They stood by the tv hugging each other until the announcement was made that the president had died. To this day I remember the sound of their uncontrollable sobbing and almost yelling. I was petrified because I didn't understand it all.
(This is not a personal memory but I'm adding it here). Meanwhile, at almost the exact same time my Zadie Max died. My dad went out in the hallway to use the payphone to call my mother. When he opened the door all that he saw were people standing all over crying and hugging each other. His first thought was, "I didn't realize how much everyone loved my father." He finally realized that there was something else going on and asked someone, but no one could even talk. He made his way to the family waiting area where a tv was on and only then did he know what happened.
Even 45 years later that day is clear to me, as are the days that followed. My grandfather was buried while the entire nation mourned. I remember going to Zadie Max's funeral and seeing everything draped in black. Every where we looked, whether in my home or elsewhere, people were in tears. My family were staunch supporters of President Kennedy and their grief was compounded by the fact that they had lost two people that they loved -- one someone whom they loved and cherished on a personal level and one whom they loved and respected along with rest of the country.
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