Sadness, prayers at Catholic school

I returned to my seventh-grade classroom after lunch, unaware that life would change. Childhood innocence would be replaced by black and white images of a murdered president and his grieving widow, dazed and covered with blood. The haunting image of two children silently watching their father go by in a coffin is forever etched in my mind.

Thanksgiving weekend was approaching. There was an air of happiness and anticipation. Everything was as usual. Sister was at her desk. Photos of the pope and JKF hung above it. Suddenly static from the PA system interrupted roll call. We were informed that the president was shot and didn’t survive. We were to kneel and pray the rosary. I said the words aloud but reality had not yet sunk in.

We’d experienced the joy and excitement of electing the first Catholic president. Then came the Cuban Missile Crisis when we hid cramped under our desks for air raid drills, and now the assassination of a beloved president. JFK represented the American dream to the boomer generation. Our parents had endured great sacrifices during World War II. The Kennedy family inspired hope that life was good once again. We were dismissed early. Nuns cried. I felt scared. There were no cartoons on Saturday, only continuous news coverage. Mayor Daley sobbed. Walter Cronkite, overcome by grief, was unable to speak.

During Sunday breakfast, our family saw live coverage of Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald. Monday was a national day of mourning. I remember powerful images of the riderless horse and little John saluting his father. I vividly recall seeing tears running down Jackie’s face under the black mourning veil she wore. That day my childhood was replaced by the grim realities of adulthood.

Joanne Gurion

Rolling Meadows