Three Days in November

Three Days in November

Suzanne Marsh

I don’t think any of my generation will ever forget where they were; the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. I remember we were just finishing our chorus practice, and we were held up for an extra ten minutes, which did not make any of us happy. When we shuffled back into our classroom, a very excited voice came over the P.A. system it was a news report that changed all of our lives that day. The news was that President Kennedy had been shot, and he was taken to Parkland Hospital. Most of us had tears in our eyes as we left school that day. Out of respect for the President, we were off from school until Tuesday, after the President was laid to rest.

I sat silently as Bus twelve took me toward home; I opened the door, strode over to our television, and turned it on. Coverage of this terrible event was already underway. Of course, back in 1963, everyone had a black and white television. Walter Cronkite was speaking, his voice quivering with emotion. I sat down on the couch, but nothing prepared me for the scenes that unfolded right before my eyes. The open-air limousine, a shot rang out, a secret service agent running and jumping on the back of the limousine. President Kennedy slumped over, Mrs. Kennedy attempting to help the Secret Service agent into the back of the limousine. The rush to the Parkland Hospital. I was thirteen and had no idea how this event I was witnessing changed my thinking and life. President John F. Kennedy died that afternoon in Dallas, Texas.

The grief on Jackie Kennedy’s face and the shock as she stood in the cockpit of Air Force One, as Lyndon B. Johnson was sworn in as President. Her tear-streaked face said more than any words possibly could. I watched as the plane with John F. Kennedy’s body was flown into Dulles Airfield. The grief on the faces of his brothers, Robert and Edward, as they met the plane. Jackie Kennedy is still in the pink suit with her husband’s blood all over it. Tears ran from her eyes as she took Robert F. Kennedy’s hand. The Kennedy brothers were dressed in mourning clothes, with swallowtail coats.

The coverage continued as my parents and I watched the East Room of the White House.

The camera then zoomed in on the bier with the President’s coffin. Mrs. Kennedy was there; she touched the flag covering the coffin, then left. She was dressed all in black, a veil covering her face. She was giving each American the gift of her dignity during what must have been a nightmare for her. I think every American was glued to their television sets during this ordeal. Life suddenly came to a standstill, or so it seemed those three days in November of 1963.

Sunday, November 24, 1963, brought more horrible news: Lee Harvey Oswald was shot and killed by Jack Ruby, a nightclub owner. Oswald was being held in the Dallas jail for the assassination of President Kennedy. He was a strange young man, at least he seemed that way to me at the time. He was a Marine, then went to the Soviet Union. There he met his wife Marina, who was a very soft-spoken, shy woman. I remember seeing Oswald’s face, clutching his stomach area, Jack Ruby standing in the back of him, a little off center. Oswald’s look was one of terror and pain, on Ruby’s face was a look of determination.

Monday was declared a day of National Mourning by President Lyndon B. Johnson. The march from the White House to the Rotunda was so very sad. The protocol for the funeral was the same as for President Abraham Lincoln. Mrs. Kennedy dressed completely in black, removed her wedding ring and placed it in her husband’s hand, a veil over her face, held the hands of their daughter Caroline and John Jr. I remember several leaders of nations were there in Washington. France’s President Charles De Gaulle, Emperor Hallie Selassie of Ethiopia, Prince Philip of Great Britain representing the Queen, Lester B. Pearson, Canada’s Prime Minister, Anastas Mikoyan, and Anatoly Dobrynin of the Soviet Union. The list is endless of dignitaries who were there, some had tears in their eyes as they walked toward Saint Matthew the Apostle’s Church, where the funeral was to take place.

The drums beat so slowly, keeping the cadence solemn. The coffin was placed on a caisson was pulled by a team of white horses. There was a black horse with boots placed backward to symbolize a fallen warrior. The church was filled, and people could be seen crying all along the route. The Navy Hymn ( Eternal Father Strong to Save) was played as the coffin was carried into the church. Richard Cardinal Cushing said the funeral mass.

Once the mass was over, the widow and her two children stepped out; it was then that John F. Kennedy Jr. saluted his father’s coffin. It was something that remains in my mind of that tiny hand saluting, a tear in his eyes. It was such a sad sight. The coffin was once again placed on the caisson for the final journey to Arlington National Cemetery.

The interment began with the Navy Hymn (Eternal Father Strong to Save), which was sung by the Navy Choir. Cardinal Cushing said the prayers and Eternal Rest. Taps were sounded, and the coffin was lowered into the cold November ground. Finally, Mrs. Kennedy stepped forward to light the eternal flame, which still burns today.

Yes, I remember all of this very clearly. I was thirteen in 1963. I am seventy-six now. I will never forget those three days in November. I sometimes think that this is where the violence began, here in this country. Mass killings in particular, yes, we live in a violent world, there is no doubt about that. Violence only begets violence. Rest in Peace, President Kennedy. May no American ever forget the tragedy of our nation.