I think this might be the only site on the Internet that hasn’t asked this question yet: Where were you when JFK was shot? I recognize that we have a lot of Village 14 youngsters who had not yet entered this world, but for those who are willing to acknowledge that their memories pre-date Nov. 22, 1962, please share.
Where were you 50 years ago?
by Nathan Phillips | Nov 22, 2013 | Newton | 21 comments
I was in a crib. I was 9 months old and I remember crying:).
I was in third grade. I remember someone coming into class whispering something to Mrs. Iardi, then being told we were going home. Not sure exactly who told us why.
One of my favorite books as a young tyke was about PT109 and I remember carrying it around with me in the days that followed.
I was in the third grade at Bowen School. When I got home, my mother, grandmother and sister were already there, at the television, crying. We remained there for hours, crying and reliving the scene. My grandmother rarely cried and I think seeing her crying was what made me realize the gravity of the situation.
I had just come home to Boston from my first overseas in the Navy when the assassination occurred. I was out of the country almost the entire time Kennedy was President. I had been a staunch supporter of Adlai Stevenson for a third term and even felt a stronger tie to Republican Leverett Saltonstall than I did for JFK when both represented Massachusetts during the 1950’s. You just felt “Salty’s” presence here in Newton more than Kennedy’s and he was our go to guy if you needed red tape cut in Washington. He helped me get into Naval OCS after I ran into an obstacle because of my flat feet. That kind of stuff.
That said, I’m glad I had a chance to see JFK’s last press conference because I came away deeply impressed with what it showed about his growth in office. I had seen no films or newsreels of him the entire time I was away. He had developed into a real leader and you could sense this by what he said and how he looked. I was in the old Navy Fargo Building getting a haircut when the news came over the radio. There’s never been a jolt like this and it was felt especially hard here in Boston. My sister was living in Colorado at the time and I told her two days later that you could hear a pin drop in Boston. It was like the entire City was draped in a a virtual black shroud. Younger people approach this day out of curiosity, but it completely altered those of us who experienced it directly and I don’t think anyone here (except rabid Kennedy haters) ever got over it entirely. That’s one reason I’m not listening to any of the reruns of this on Television today. It’s still too painful.
PS. I had to head down to Florida to join my squadron a few days after JFK was buried. I stopped at Arlington Cemetary to see the grave site on the way down, but the real clincher about where part of the Country was and still is came when I signed into a motel in Sylvania, Georgia. The Southern lady behind the counter saw my Boston address and said “I see you’re from Boston. I’m so sorry about what happened to YOUR President.
I was a junior in high school and, like Greg, I remember someone (the Vice Principal) coming into class whispering something to Miss Powers, the English teacher, who blurted out “the President’s been shot” and bolted from the room. The V.P. then told us that school was being dismissed. We kind of milled about on the sidewalk in a daze of confusion. A couple of kids had cars and crowds surrounded them to listen to their radios, but learned little more and drifted home.
That weekend was an annual New England USY convention in Worcester which was inexplicably not cancelled. We boarded a bus to Worcester at 5 pm and were met by our host families and I was driven to their home. Nobody quite knew what to do. We had a near-silent Shabbat dinner but did not go to services. Instead we watched the television news. Strangers sharing a profound national experience. This continued through Saturday and at about 10 am on Sunday the bus brought us back home. In time to see Ruby kill Oswald on TV with my own family.
Who could forget?
Thanks for these stories- I’m a bit younger (I don’t think anyone will ask me about my memories of watching TV news reports Nixon resigning), so this stuff is great to see– thanks all
I guess that my recollection will cause giggles about my ancient-ness, since I am the only one so far to have grown wisdom teeth at the time of the assassination. I was a senior in college sitting in the “smoker,” a common room in our dormitory where we smoked cigarettes (pre-pot), played bridge and engaged in omphaloskeptic and existential discourse between classes. We heard the news from an incredulous dorm-mate who then switched the TV on. Even after watching the horrifying images, with tears and screams of disbelief, we called our families and we sat together and talked and talked. It raised images, among others, of the late 1800 anarchists, a kind of awakening from the innocent years from our mid-40’s births that civilization had not ever accepted détente. We watched Oswald kill Kennedy (we hoped he was the one); we watched Ruby kill Oswald. Whether you liked Kennedy or not, he was OUR President. It was outrageous, someone killed our President. The sole comfort in the whole Dali-like landscape: Johnson was sworn in. We still had a President. We would continue. We would re-group. We would survive.
It seems as though all the schools handled it the same way: Someone came into my sixth grade classroom at the Angier School and whispered to our teacher. School was dismissed and as I walked outside some of the “big kids” from Warren Jr High were there and they told us that the President had been assassinated. Not fully understanding it, as I was crossing Beacon street I asked the crossing policeman, Owen Quinn (no crossing guards in those days, Owen was a legend in Waban) if it was true. I’ll never forget the sad look on his face as he said that it was.
Two days later our innocence was further tested as we watched Jack Ruby shoot Oswald live on TV.
The only time in my life that I saw my Father cry was while we were watching the Kennedy funeral.
My dad met me coming out of swim club at the city pool in Derry, Ireland. I always walked, and our store was always open until 11 pm on Fridays,so I knew something big had happened. When he told me I was crushed. We had gotten a day off school to celebrate JFK’s election. It was surreal. The city was silent. I was in 5th grade and with the time difference it was about 6:30 pm. I was allowed to stop at my friends house to tell her on the way home. Her mum shut their candy store 2 1/2 hours early and put a death notice in the window. It didn’t matter that it was the other side of the Atlantic. He was our president. @Bob Burke, how awful that comment was, and I’m sure she meant it sincerely.
I was 5 years old, and out shopping with my aunt and mom. When we got back to my aunt’s house in Needham, we helped carry her groceries inside. It was a habit for my aunt to light a cigarette and turn on the TV as soon as she walked in the front door. I remember seeing both of their faces go stark white with the news that the President had been shot. My mom picked me up, threw me in the front seat of the car, and headed home to Newton with the radio on. As we turned from Centre Street onto Beacon, we heard President Kennedy had died. To this day, more often than not, I flashback to that moment whenever I drive through that intersection.
@Marie Jackson. I’m sure she did, too. It’s great hearing from you. You have been in our thoughts and prayers these past few weeks. Welcome home.
I was 3. I remember my mom was driving and we were smiling at each other. Then, all of a sudden, she turned the radio up and the entire mood of the drive changed. She pulled the car over to the side of the road. We listened to the news that President Kennedy had been shot. I didn’t understand what it meant. But I understood quite clearly that my mom’s world had changed. Her eyes watered. A fragility I saw for the first time. I will never forget that moment.
As years passed, we discussed it in the context of remembering, honoring, and moving forward.
I remember the Newtonville Brigham’s at the corner of Austin Street and Walnut Street delayed their grand opening until the afternoon because of the funeral proceedings. They were giving out free samples of ice cream so all the neighborhood kids were quite restless that morning.
I hope more people post here. This is incredibly interesting.
I was in Memorial School in Oak Hill Park when an announcement came over the loud speaker. Funny I can still picture in my mind the loudspeaker on the wall.
I remember wearing a large button during the ’60 campaign, “If I were 21 I’d vote for JFK”.
I also remember the Nixon-Kennedy debates.
My memories are really fuzzy. I had just turned 4 and I was at my grandparent’s apartment with my mother and presumably my younger sister. I remember hearing a lot of commotion and being told that the president was assassinated and that I had to ask what “assassinated” meant. Beyond that, I have no other memories of the event.
I talked to my mother about this the other day — she still lives in the Syracuse area where I grew up. She doesn’t remember it as vividly as everyone around here does. I wanted to know whether we heard it on the radio or television and she couldn’t remember, although she did remember watching the funeral on TV. (I don’t.) Obviously it was a huge deal that the president was killed, but I wonder if it was even bigger in the Boston area because he was local. I haven’t talked to anyone from around here old enough to remember who can’t recall every relevant detail.
Of course today [Nov. 24] marks the day 50 years ago, when Jack Ruby, walked down the ramp at Dallas Police Headquarters and into the history books. At 5 years old, Ruby’s murder of Oswald, didn’t resonate with me in the same way as the assassination of JFK.
I can remember quite clearly 12 years later though, hearing assassination researcher and author of “Rush to Judgement,” Mark Lane, on a radio talk show. I must have sat in my car for two hours, listening to him question the events in Dallas and the Warren Commission’s conclusions. I was so fascinated by Mr. Lane, that over the years I’ve read more than two dozen books on the assassination.
Of course all that reading makes me no more qualified than anyone else to render a verdict, because speculation about the assassination inevitably leads to a morass of distorted facts and disinformation. But I do believe that President Kennedy was killed as the result of a conspiracy. And I believe Ruby’s intent was to keep Oswald from talking.
To anyone interested in learning more about the details behind the assassination, I highly recommend a book called “Contract on America,” by David Scheim.
I was six years old and have no memory of the day he was shot. The day of JFK’s funeral looms large in our family because that was the day us seven kids and my parents moved from a tiny apartment into a real house.
I was a sophomore in HS and home sick for the day. My mother was at work, so I was watching television alone when the announcement that the President had been shot was broadcast on television. My first reaction was denial – the President would be all right, despite hearing the desperate sound in the reporters’ voices. Throughout the afternoon, I watched the events on television alone, waiting for my parents to return home from work. I can remember as clearly as if it was yesterday the look of despair and sadness on my father’s face as he walked toward the house.
He was a staunch Republican (unusual for an Irish Catholic at the time). However, in 1960, he became very quiet about his politics. He refused to tell me – a strong JFK supporter at the age of 12 – who he intended to vote for, saying one’s vote was a private matter. But there was one occasion during the Nixon/Kennedy debates when Kennedy scored a major point against Nixon. My father literally jumped out of his chair and cheered, then sat down quietly. My sisters and I smiled but said not a word.
I was always sure he voted for Kennedy, and he was bereft at his death. Those 4 days spent in front of the television with my family remain one of my most vivid childhood memories.
In the third grade at the old Murray Road elementary school here in Newton when the Principal came into class, saying that the President had been killed and that we would be let out early.
Some strong impressions, lasting memories and thoughts:
– The sad, tiniest smile on my Mother’s tear-lined face when I got home, happy to see me but sad for me at what the world had now become.
– The Principal bringing her hand to the back of her head to show us where the bullet had struck the President. I know now the gesture was involuntary on her part. She couldn’t believe it and was speaking and moving out of shock.
– The quietness of 25 children lining up to go home. Only one classmate, a boy, (my best friend in school), was crying. The perpetually mean girl in the class told him to “oh, just stop that noise.” The teacher, having enough of this brat since kindergarten told her to “shut up” and leave him alone.
I lost that friend to illness last year.
– The fact that in 1963, the school could just open the doors and release everyone to walk home, knowing that every child lived within 6 blocks and that someone would be home to greet us.
– Last week, as my Mother prepared to downsize following the death of her husband, she unearthed a painting I had done in 1962 of the PT 109 sub. I loved that book. I know we were young and naive but it was nice to have heroes, as David Bowie once said, “even just for one day.”
In our case, we got lucky. In our youth, we had a hero for 1000 days.