I was a sophomore in geometry class at Madonna High School in Niagara Falls, NY. The principal, Sister Mary Eloise, came over the intercom and told us the President had been shot in Texas. Then a short time later, she came back on to tell us that he was dead.
It’s hard to convey-- maybe impossible-- the level of shock that we felt. We were kids who had grown up without war or terror. our parents had experienced war, and it gave them a worldview we could not comprehend, but we kids did not know terror in our world. The closest to us was the recently past Cuban Missile Crisis. But suicide bombers, beheadings, mass murder in American cities, on school campuses… and these things so commonplace today that they barely raise an eyebrow?? Unheard of. Impossible to imagine. Like the frogs in the pot of water, we don’t feel the heat and shock today the way we did in 1963.
I was in the 4th grade. When the principal announced the president had been killed, I cried. In my 9-y/o brain, you only got to be president if you were the best man in the whole country, and it was so wrong to kill the best man in the whole country.
It marked my introduction to reality - the world wasn’t the wonderful, magical place I thought it was…
I was in third grade. Not too long before my great-grandmother had died, hers was the first funeral I ever attended. I saw her daughter, my maternal grandmother, crying, and was surprised. I didn’t know until then that grownups cried.
Our principal, instead of announcing the death over the intercom. came to each class individually to let us have the news. I saw his face, and my young teacher(who was pregnant), and realized they wanted to cry, but were trying hard not to. We didn’t cry, we were in total shock.
Too young to understand very much. But it’s become a lifetime focus among much historical research and interest.
IMVHO, of all the many books that have been written, the definitive one is Bugliosi’s Reclaiming History and its variants. (There seem to be at least two alternate publications that omit one part or another. At 1300 pages plus 900 pages more on CD, it needed a pop edition.) VB makes an absolutely airtight, rock-solid case for Oswald as a lucky lone nut, and thoroughly demolishes every other major and minor conspiracy theory. Moreso than even the Warren Report itself, I believe anyone who wants to challenge that conclusion has to go *through *this book - there is no path around it. In six or so years, I have not yet found a significant fact Bugliosi does not include and address; CT’ers cannot play the “well, what about…” game here.
Read at least the 44-page introduction if you never read anything else.
I was in the first grade. Our teacher announced that President Kennedy was dead, put her head on her desk and cried. That was the first time I had seen an adult cry and it frightened me terribly.
I remember the sounds of the funeral, the drums and that riderless horse on TV. It was a very sad and confusing time.
Freshman in high school. I was on the PE field with the rest of my class when someone remarked that they just lowered the flag to half staff. Of course, we were hoping it was for a particular math teacher, but we soon found out it was for President Kennedy.
I was five years old and we were living in Turkey. I remember my father coming home from work and telling my mother, and she started crying. They turned on the radio, and for the rest of the day other American friends came and went from the apartment, everyone upset and sad.
I didn’t understand what had happened at the time, of course. I just recall that day as confusing.
Freshman English. Some kid opened the door and said the President had been shot. I was sitting in the back of the room and the kid next to me had a transistor radio (forbidden, of course). He turned it on, very low, and I heard the priest who had attended the President say that JFK was dead. It wasn’t the official announcement and neither I nor the other kid said a word. I felt all hollow inside and wondered if we were the only two students in the school who knew the President had died. Then the busses were called, school was closed, and we all went home to sit in front of the tv for the next few days.
I totally forgot today was the anniversary. I guess 51 years will do that to you. We probably won’t think about 9/11 that much in 2052.
I was in first grade. I didn’t know anything about the world beyond my neighborhood. I had no concept of a “President” or anything having to do with a government. I didn’t know who Kennedy was. I remember us being let out of school early. I kept hearing people saying, “Kenny’s dead. Kenny’s dead.” (This was almost 35 years before South Park. :)) At least that’s what it sounded like. I said, “Kenny who?” “The President. He’s dead.” (Remember, i only had the experiences of a six-year-old.) I got home and my mom had the TV on and Walter Cronkite was talking. Every network was covering it though. I got a crash lesson in civics that weekend and returned to school a lot more educated in current events. The next year I was following the election between LBJ and Barry Goldwater.
I, too, was six. Remember it all so well. I remember my teacher’s stricken face when she was told of the shooting by the principal. Then she crumpled into tears – so we knew whatever the news, it was was bad. They closed the school and we were all sent home. I remember walking home alone in a sort of daze and wondering what could happen next. I had a terrible sense of feeling rudderless.
I arrived home and my dad was there, taking a sick day as I recall. He was surprised when I walked in the door: “What are you doing home so early?” “The President has been shot,” I said. I remember him fairly leaping for the television set, exclaiming, “Oh, my god, oh, my god,” and the set stayed on continuously for the next week. The whole family was just glued to the set. We didn’t know what else to do. I remember Walter Cronkite announcing the President’s death. And naturally, we saw Ruby’s assassination, too, as well as Kennedy’s funeral… the riderless horse with the boots turned backward, John-John’s salute, all of it.
The shock was unlike anything I can remember since. As surreal as 9/11 was, for me, Kennedy’s assassination was more traumatic… probably because I was so young and unprepared.
Just seemed like the whole world had gone crazy. And it had.
It was the beginning of my freshman Architecture class. Kids were still arriving, and one of them said that the President had been shot. This guy was somewhat of a prankster, so nobody believed him. Then a second guy came in with the same news. Finally the teacher came in and said the President was dead, and class was cancelled.
I was in 6th grade. I remember the principal playing the radio on over the P.A. system. To this day I can’t tell you if an adult said anything to prepare us before that.
