Three Loud Bursts (a true story)

Many of us remember exactly where we were and what we were doing when we first learned of the space shuttle Challenger disaster and the tragic events of 9-11. This story recounts what I and others were doing on November 22, 1963, when we learned that President John F. Kennedy had been shot. It's an amalgam of personal reflections, news reports, and interviews I conducted with friends, neighbors, and family members (the quote mentioning a "technical director" came from my dad, who worked at Portland's KATU TV at the time).

Three Loud Bursts
We practiced multiplication tables at our wooden desks. Mrs. Ryan walked around the room with her hands behind her back, checking answers and making sure we didn't cheat. Shannon, the prettiest girl in the class, sat across the aisle to my left. Mrs  Ryan passed between us.

We turned in our papers and waited for morning recess. It was nice weather: a few clouds, but fairly warm, for November. It would be good to go run on the playground. We listened to the by-now-memorized rules and regulations for recess…no hitting, no sliding down the bank, no teasing the girls…we listened and waited.

In another part of the country, a black car moved slowly down a wide road. Seventy-six degrees, just past noon; the convertible top and side windows were down. Six people rode along and smiled. "You can't say that Dallas isn' t friendly to you today," one of them said. Thousands of people lined the streets, taking pictures and waving.

Mrs. Ryan was cut short by a crackling loudspeaker above the door. She stood by her desk, looking up. A woman's faltering voice gave us the news. "President Kennedy has been shot," she said.

"I was at home…I heard it over the TV. . . I was shocked…couldn't believe it."

"…sheer terror…I was buying groceries…some woman said the President had been shot…I came home and listened to the radio."

Some closed their eyes, some watched Mrs. Ryan with her head in her hands. Shannon cried.

"We will have two minutes of silence for prayer," the voice said.

"We were visiting some friends…sitting in the living room…deathly quiet. The TV was on…'President has been shot'…President Kennedy has been shot." 

"KENNEDY SERIOUSLY WOUNDED…PERHAPS SERIOUSLY, PERHAPS FATALLY BY ASSASSIN'S BULLET…PRESIDENT SLUMPED OVER IN THE BACKSEAT OF THE CAR, FACE DOWN…CONNALLY ON THE FLOOR OF THE MIDDLE SEAT…THREE LOUD BURSTS…"

A Secret Service agent assigned to Mrs. Kennedy said, "He's dead," as the President was lifted from the White House touring car. Mrs. Kennedy's clothes were stained with blood. She watched as they carried her husband into the hospital. 

"It came over the loudspeaker in the gym…our teacher broke down and cried…we wondered what was going on."

"We were going to do a commercial…everything stopped…the technical director couldn't push the buttons."

Mrs. Ryan let us out for recess.

"You shot the President! You're a Communist!" we joked, running around the blacktop. Shannon stood by the swings. Craig noticed that someone had forgotten to raise the flag all the way, and we wondered why.

The sun felt good.

A bullet was found to have penetrated Connally's chest and lodged in his thigh. The wound was serious, but not fatal. In Emergency Room One, doctors worked on the President. Jackie Kennedy stood quietly by…"looking brave, but fear was in her eyes." She called for a priest. An oxygen tube was inserted in the President's throat, and he was given transfusions of whole blood. A doctor tried to stimulate his heart with chest massage.

The doctor monitoring an electrocardiograph reported no heartbeat: "It's too late," he said.

We came back in from recess.